Harry Kellogg III

THE RED SKY

THE SECOND BATTLE OF BRITAIN

Book Two of

The World War Three 1946 Series

First Edition

Acknowledgments

I’ve lost another friend recently. He was one of many who inspired me to write. Nobody knew they were influencing me, but many were in their own way. Larry was a gentle man of enormous humor. He was an atheist yet when the time came to die he did it with courage and grace which leads me to believe he must have believed in some kind of afterlife despite his protests. I bet you a donut we will meet again Larry.

A few years ago I lost another friend who spent endless hours in college discussing Alternate History with me as we schooled each other and tried to outfox one another playing military simulations or war games. Chopper was a gentle soul with the heart of a lion who died of kidney failure while waiting for a donor.

This book is dedicated to Larry and Chopper.

To paraphrase:

Keep your friends close and your good friends closer.

Harry

Author’s Note

Just a few words of clarification may be in order:

These books are not written in any traditional style. They are a combination of historical facts, oral histories, third person and first person fictional accounts. They read more like an oral history or an entertaining history book complete with footnotes.

There is no hero or character development to speak of. No central character on which the whole novel depends. The story is the story and not the characters. We hear from those who felt, saw, ran, lost, suffered and won. The story is told using the stories of everyday people, the techniques of reporters, oral historians, traditional historians, and politicians. Although told in short stories, vignettes and in an episodic manner, the novel builds on what has gone before.

I was inspired by “The Good War”: An Oral History of World War Two by Studs Terkel (1985 Pulitzer Prize for General Fiction) and Cornelius Ryan’s wonderful books “The Longest Day” and “A Bridge too Far”. I was especially captivated by Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything. Where the author explores the history of everyday objects and tells stories that captivate and educate all of us on the history of… well everything. Hopefully I have used their techniques of storytelling competently enough to entertain you for a few days.

Forward

Book One — The Red Tide starts with the birth of Sergo Peshkova and ends with the Soviet Red Army in control of the majority of Western Europe and making slow but steady progress in breaking the NATO lines in the Pyrenees Mountains.

Our real departure from history is when Sergo is born in 1896. This is when the ribbons of time start to unravel; slowly at first and then faster and faster until the fateful day in 1943 when Sergo is bullied by Stalin at one of his infamous parties. It seems that Sergo has made himself an expert on all things’ aerospace from gliders to rockets. He has no formal training, but his native intellect and high IQ have enabled him to live through his encounter with the greatest mass murderer since Genghis Kahn and even flourish.

Sergo is what in modern terms would be classified as a social outcast. In another place and time he would have been the village idiot but as our story will show, in this alternate history, he is anything but. He has a genius to conceive of and run an industrial empire, much like a Henry Ford or a William Boeing.

For all his talents Sergo is a recluse that sends memos to Stalin putting his suggestions and ideas to paper, often unable to articulate them in person. Through Stalin, his ideas and dreams grow to fruition and the Soviet aerospace program starts producing weapons capable of defending the Soviet Union from the American B-29 Super Fortress.

Starting early in 1946 the Soviets have delayed the US production of atomic bombs by assignation and then the final solution for the Soviets is a release of the entire supply of US polonium by the spy DELMAR, killing and incapacitating virtually the whole American atomic bomb program brain trust and at the same time destroying the total supply of polonium in the world.

This systematic crippling of the US atomic program and Sergo’s missile defense systems convinced Stalin that the time might be right to fulfill his deepest ambitions and once and for all rid Western Europe of capitalism. Combined with the rapid demobilization of US, French and British forces, he is convinced that the time is right and strikes on May 2nd, 1946.

In a lightning and classic Soviet Deep Battle, the Soviet Armed forces quickly break through the weak and untrained US, British and French occupying forces and run a classic flanking maneuver designed to trap the remaining western forces against the English Channel.

By combining Germany secret weapons programs, stolen US and British inventions Sergo and his captured German scientists and a talented stable of prisoners, saved from the gulag, started to produce the first successful ground to air and air to air guided missiles. Based on the German Wasserfal and X4 programs married with a new guidance system of a stolen US design. The missiles soon proved lethal to America’s first attempts at strategic bombing against the USSR using the atomic bomb.

Unknown to the US and Britain the Soviet spy master Lavrentiy Beria had an extensive spy network throughout the British high command and the US nuclear program. In addition, there were many blue-collar workers in France, England and the US that were sympathetic to the Communist cause.

These maids, cooks and janitors passed on fleeting bits and pieces to the NKVD and by putting all these little snippets of knowledge together the Soviets spy masters could predict where the US major bombing raids would attempt to attack next.

By using this foreknowledge and the few missiles the Soviets had managed to manufacture, it could be made to look like they had thousands. By thwarting the first several USAAF raids with a combination of bluff, guided missiles, Yak, Lag and MiG fighters, they are able to halt the most effective weapon the US has… the strategic bomber.

In an ill thought-out attack, the US loses one of its remaining atomic bombs when it attempts to bomb Leningrad. Sergo’s missiles are waiting and the raid is intercepted by hundreds of fighters, air to air and ground to air missiles. The losses are heavy and the US suspends its bombing campaign until they find a possible solution. In addition, a heavily damaged but complete unexploded US Mark III atomic bomb is recovered from the water off the coast of Leningrad where it was to have been used to destroy the city.

In a unique use of sea power the newly named North Atlantic Treaty Organization lures the Soviet forces into range of the largest fleet of modern battleships ever assembled. As the immense Soviet armored columns race to crush the few remaining opposing forces in France, a steel curtain of hundreds of 14 and 16 inch shells rains death and destruction on a level only equaled by massive batteries of artillery or possibly an atomic bomb. Caught in the open the Soviet forces are slaughtered.

This only provides respite from the Soviet onslaught for a matter of weeks, however. As the Red Army juggernaut continues its march to the Mediterranean Sea, the forces of NATO desperately gather behind the imposing peaks of the Pyrenees Mountains on the border of France and Spain and dig in.

In a show of ill-advised nationalism Charles DeGaul breaks away from the French army and with a few divisions’ attempt to halt the Soviet forces on the Maginot Line. They are trapped and almost slaughter to a man. This, however, slows up the Red Army for another crucial few weeks. It is just enough time for the NATO forces to form a very weak defensive line in the Pyrenees Mountains between France and Spain.

The war for air superiority is basically a stalemate with both sides giving as good as they take. Without air superiority the US and British armor are no match in the open country for the superior numbers and weight of the Soviet heavy tanks and the retreat continues. Finally the Soviet red wave crashes against the peaks of the Pyrenees Mountains and comes to a crashing halt. The dug in heavy tanks and infantry of the NATO forces combined with the unassailable peaks of the mountains brings the Soviet Army to a slow but steady grinding offensive that temporarily brings pause to their swift advances.

Italy falls to Soviet pressure and Greece will soon follow and become occupied. Stalin is trying for a political solution and attempting to take England out of the war by using the carrot and the stick. This sets the stage for a possible Second Battle of Britain.

Meanwhile, the US is apparently having difficulties convincing its citizens and corporations to make the sacrifices necessary to once again fight to liberate their European cousins. From Finland to Toulouse in France, the iron curtain of Communism has fallen on all of Western Europe as the NATO allies desperately try to counter the sheer size of the forces of the USSR.

* * *

Things are not going well for the NATO Allies… Yet maybe they are.

* * *

Timeline for World War Three 1946

Book One — The Red Tide — Stalin Strikes First

May 2nd, 1895 — Sergo Peshkova is born

Aug 3rd, 1943 — Sergo attends a party where he meets Stalin and their unusual relationship begins

Aug 13th, 1943 — Sergo becomes an advisor to Joseph Stalin specializing in aerospace

Sept, 2nd, 1943 — Sergo is introduced to the spy apparatus created and managed by Lavrentiy Beria who has managed to place agents in every major top secret weapons system of the Western nations including their allies.

Nov., 24th, 1943 — Sergo is given full control of Soviet aerospace research and development.

Jan 4th, 1944 — Research on the German Wasserfal Ground to Air missile and the X4 air to air missile becomes a top priority under Sergo’s leadership using stolen materials from Peenemunde

March 12th, 1944 — An abandoned USAAF guidance system falls into Sergo’s hands and is developed into a workable system under his leadership

Aug 1944 — Three USAAF Superfortress B-29 bombers fall into the possession of the USSR

Dec, 18, 1945 — 17 of the 22 members of an elite atomic bomb assembly team killed in a series of seemingly accidental events during the holidays. 15 die in a bus crash. These deaths delay the American Atomic Weapons program for 6 months

May 1st, 1946 — May Day Parade in Berlin and Moscow

May 2nd, 1946 — World War Three begins with a surprise attack by the Red Army consisting of 60 divisions and over 7,000 combat aircraft.

May 11th — NATO is formed

May 13th, 1946 — The surprise attack is a complete success with 13 out of 22 US, British and French divisions overrun

June, 2nd, 1946 — The Red Army is across the Rhine River in force

June 6th, 1946 — American reinstitutes the Draft

June 16th, 1946 — After a valiant defense led by Charles DeGaulle, the French are defeated on the old Maginot line once again.

June 20th, 1946 — Operation Louisville Slugger is a complete success and a full Red Army Front is destroyed when 22 modern battleships unleash a devastating surprise attack on forces sent to encircle an allied army.

July 3rd, 1946 — Denmark surrenders to the forces of the USSR

July 13th, 1946 — France surrenders to the USSR

July 13th, 1946 — The Soviet Agent known as Delmar (George Koval) assassinates hundreds of American nuclear scientists using the world’s most deadly substance, Polonium, at conferences in Oak Ridge, TN and Dayton, OH. This cripples the US nuclear program for another 12 months and possibly forever

July 14th, 1946 — NKVD OMSBON advanced forces reach the French city of Le Havre

July 22nd, 1946 — NKVD OMSBON forces reach Orleans

July 27th, 1946 — USAAF attempt to drop an atomic bomb on Leningrad. The NKVD and its stable of spies is instrumental in warning the Soviet Red Air Force VVS. With a combination of the new Wasserfal Ground to Air guided Missile and hundreds of fighters the raid is decimated and an atomic bomb is lost in the Baltic Sea.

July 28th, 1946 — The Red Army is stopped temporarily on the Pyrenees Line by a combination of US and Spanish divisions using the rugged terrain of this mountain range located on the border of France and Spain.

Aug 2nd, 1946 — Italy is abandoned by the NATO Allies and all forces are pulled back to Sardinia

Aug 5th, 1946 — Wasserfal ground to air missiles (Stalin’s Fire) are used to great effect against a RAF bombing mission near Toulouse, France

Aug, 15th, 1946 — The Soviet VVS demonstrates its newest aircraft by flying at great heights over the entire British Isles in an attempt to intimidate the British people. This demonstration proves that the entire British Isles can be attack from the air unlike the First Battle of Britain where the Luftwaffe was severely limited in range.

August 17th, 1946 — The Strategic Air Command is formed with Curtis LeMay named as commander

August 20th, 1946 — The Soviet VVS continues a massive buildup of the Red Air Force on the Channel coast. It appears that a Second Battle of Britain is about to be fought.

Territory of the USSR

Once again a few brave men would be asked to do the impossible over the skies of Great Britain. This time the enemy was not lead by a buffoon in the form of Herman Goring. The Red Air Force VVS was led by a master of strategy in the form of one Alexander Alexandrovich Novikov, the man who ruled the skies over Mother Russia, Manchuria, East Germany and now most of Europe.

Prologue

The Katyusha rockets come fast and heavy. They were blowing the tops off of the surrounding hills like some kind of hedge clippers gone wild. Making that classic sound like a monk seal’s mating call. Rocket after rocket slams into the hill top near Es Bordes. Our positions kept falling one by one and then it was on to the next hilltop.

Our fallback position was the ridges to the West of Arros. The Reds were getting dangerously close to Vilac. The Reds were taking big losses but they were relentless in their advance and once they took ground they never gave it up.

Finally the Spanish were coming into their own and were becoming very good at making Ivan pay for every yard. They still haven’t mastered the art of taking ground but they sure could defend it. Over 50% of the forces were now Spanish. Unfortunately without the ability to make counter attacks it was not possible to us to keep our flanks.

Oh, we could give them a bloody nose every once in a while but for the majority of the time we were making retrograde movements just to keep from getting surrounded. We are all wondering where were all the US troops? We heard that they were having some trouble with the corporations and trying to get them to make the switch back from civilian goods but we never thought the vets would let us down.

Eventually we were going to run out of mountain tops and then we were dead meat against all that Soviet armor and as everyone knows the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.

Chapter One:

Prelude to an Attack

20 MM Brass Cannon Casings made in Manitowoc Wisconsin at the Aluminum Specialty Company along with millions of others[1]

Tin and Copper Make Brass

The tin came from the Cajalco mine in California. The piece of land that holds the mine is part of a 50,000 acre Spanish land grant. Because it forms a natural passageway through the mountains, the Temescal Valley had served as an old Indian camping ground, later becoming an alternate route of the Southern Emigrant Trail in the 1850s and 1860s, as well as a Butterfield-Overland stage corridor.

The tin ore was discovered when a shirt tail relative of the local Native American tribal chief was shown what looked like a possible deposit of “metaliferous rock.” He promptly filed claim.

The area became collectively known as the Temescal Tin Mines1 as hundreds of claims were filed despite two prominent geologist’s reports that questioned the profitability of the area. Nevertheless miners kept coming to the area and digging. The Civil War interrupted most of the mining in the area. In 1868 almost 7000 pounds of tin were mined. Ore specimens were sent to England where they were pronounced the purest quality. The area was pronounced the only the workable body of tin in America.

An English syndicate became interested in the area and bought much of the land in 1891 and imported 200 experience Cornish miners, two were from the little town of St. Mawgan, Cornwall, Great Britain. After their arrival production of the mine increased dramatically. A pyramid of tin was built near the railroad and President Benjamin Harris had his pictures taken at the base of the Pyramid. Yet even so, within the short span of two years, unwise investments and bad management decisions led to the Cajalco Mine’s abrupt closure.

1927 the mine was reactivated and extensive improvements were made. Unfortunately the stock market crash of 1929 forced the closure of the mine once again. 1942 the Timko Corporation of Richmond Virginia bought the mine and reopened it to supply the demand of the military effort in World War II until its final closure in 1945.

The Cornishmen who stayed in the area worked the mine until its closing. Our small amount of tin came from this mine in 1944.

The copper came from the Calumet and Hecla, mining company2 in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. In 1864 William J. Hobart discovered copper in the area. The town of Red Jacket, now known as Calumet, was built next to the mine. By 1886 the area was the leading copper producer in the United States, in fact from 1869–1876 it was the leading producer of copper in the world. Again, like the tin mines, the copper mines fell on hard times and consolidated during the 20s. However they still continue to produce high-grade copper until the 1970s.

Laborers for the copper mine were Finns, Poles, Italians, Irish, and once again Cornishmen with one coming from St. Mawgan, Cornwall, Great Britain.

A particular tragedy of note happened in 1914 at a laborers meeting. A meeting hall was packed with 500 people when someone shouted fire. There was no fire. 73 people died with 62 of them being children. They were crushed to death trying to escape and this became known as the Italian Hall Disaster.[2]

One of them was our Cornishman’s youngest son.[3]

United States seems to have a knack for both finding, and producing exactly the resources it needed at exactly the right time. From timber to oil, tin, copper, gold and uranium, we’ve always found exactly what we need when we need it. The same was true in the Soviet Union and in addition both have needed help in bringing their resources to market. Much of that help for the Soviets is now coming from the former territories of Austria-Hungary, Romania, Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia, Poland and Germany whereas the help for our tin and copper came from villages near St. Mawgan, Cornwall, Great Britain.

The Empire that the Soviets now held sway over holds every resource they will need to defend themselves from any aggressor. They just need time to exploit it properly.

The tin from the Cajalco Mine and the copper from the Calumet Mine combined to make the brass which was formed into the 20 mm cartridge casing that is the object of our story.

On the spent shell casing is stamped the letters AS which means it was produced at the Aluminum Specialty Company of Manitowoc. WI.[4] Manitowoc is 30 miles south of Lambeau Field in Green Bay, WI home of the World Champion Green Bay Packers and on the shores of Lake Michigan. Millions of exact replicas of our shell casing came from this company’s factory. Four former residence of St. Mawgan, Cornwall, Great Britain worked in this plant.

The projectile end of this assembly was shot in the general direction of a Tupolov 6 Reconnaissance aircraft that was actually doing quite well in evading the Spitfires sent up to intercept it until it’s port engine became unreliable near St. Mawgan, Cornwall, Great Britain. This particular projectile missed its intended target. Others did not.

Our shell casing was ejected from the 2nd of two Hispano Mk II cannons on either side of the British Spitfire fighter plane’s port wing. It and 37 of its cousins fell through the air and fell on a house in St. Mawgan, as the projectile went on to miss its intersection with the pilot’s intended target. The second burst from this gun did not miss and sawed off the wing of the Soviet aircraft 6 minutes later in the twisting turn battle over Mawgan. The noise of the shell casings on the roof of the house caused the family living inside to venture out to explore what had made the noise. The three year old girl of the family saw our shell casing and picked it up and held it in her tiny hand as her father held her other hand.

They moved to the center of the street to get a better look and after a few minutes or so they started back to their home when the 8 year old boy saw the wing from the Tu 6 with one engine still attached cart wheeling towards their home and screamed for his father and pointed his little finger at the falling hunk of metal. His father never did see the flailing wing but immediately reacted to his son’s cry of terror and pulled his family into a doorway on the other side of the street.

The wing hit the house and sliced like a knife through the roof and second floor where a small portion of the fuel in the wing tanks vaporized and then exploded from a spark caused by an iron fitting hitting a small fragment of flint in the stones on the fire place. The explosion went straight up taking a large portion of the second floor and blowing off the roof of the house while leaving the walls intact. The debris from the roof rained down upon our little family.

Family lore credited our shell casing with getting the family out of their house and to safety. The little girl cherished the shell casing all her life and it is now prominently displayed over the new fireplace mantle and still in St. Mawgan, Cornwall.

Two metals came from California and Michigan, both mined by Cornishmen from St. Mawgan were combined together by others of St. Mawgan in Manitowoc, WI, USA. This shell casing and the noise it made hitting the roof over our little family probably saved their lives. None of this can be proven of course, but try and tell that to a 69 year old grandmother of six who still lives in the house she grew up in on that same street in St. Mawgan and you will get the story straight from the mouth of what was once a 3 year old girl cowering next to her father as her home exploded in front of her eyes and if her 75 year old brother is sober he will tell you the same story.

The chances that both the shell casing and later the cart wheeling wing of the Tu 6 would both hit the same roof after dropping from a height of 8934 meters is astronomical I’m sure, but such is the irony of war.

On another note, the spent projectiles from the same shell fired by the Spitfire that missed the Tu 6, went on to kill a cow eating quite contently in the middle of a field some distance away. The farmer’s wife was about to herd the cow into the barn and was about 2 meters away when the poor creature was struck. To this day the family living on the farm tells the story of expired cow and speculation abounds as to where the bullet came from. At every holiday family feast and reunion the story grows more and more complex and convoluted. As the old saying goes “truth is stranger than fiction” and none of the stories concocted on the farm is anywhere near as interesting as the truth. The spent projectile is in almost pristine condition and sits on this family’s fire place mantle as a memento of their close brush with death.

Chapter Two:

Tale of an IL-10 Beast Pilot

IL-10 Beast

* * *

From time to time we are going to explore the lives of the people who are about to fight and die over the Isles of Great Britain and France. These are the souls who will determine the fate of the British Empire.

* * *

* * *

The following story is based on the book Over Fields of Fire written by Anna Timofeeva-Egorova and is presented both to encourage you to read her fine book and to illustrate how well the Soviet pilots were trained at the beginning of World War Two, contrary to popular belief. It also gives you a glimpse of Soviet life. And yes Anna was a woman. Names and situations have been changed but the story is basically hers.

* * *

A poster appeared at the barracks “Future Airmen and Parachutists were invited to pull up stumps and build an aerodrome and hangers for gliders and planes.” “Well if they needed stumps pulled we would go after work and pull some stumps. To be honest flying had always been a dream and now maybe this poster would be my chance. I headed for the given address to sign up.

The next meeting I found out my fate was to fly gliders and not planes. I was very disappointed but determined to be the best glider pilot I could be so they had to let me fly a real plane. We took off from a high bank over the Moscow River and hovered. The gliders were launched in a very primitive way. The trainee pilot would be shot into the air by the rest of us like a sling shot. If you were lucky you could last for 2 to 3 minutes of gliding and then it was back to pulling on the elastic bands to shoot others into the sky. Every day that summer I would go to the bank of the river and sling others into the air for my chance to fly for 3 minutes.[5]

DFS 230 glider

“In flying club we studied flight theory, aerial navigation, meteorology and the “Flight Operations Manual” for the U-2 trainer. We were sternly drilled that the “Flight Operations Manual” was written in blood and was not to be taken lightly. We learned the basics on a plane mounted on a pedestal, manipulating the levers and how the different parts of the plane worked. We also learned from the mechanics how the engine worked and how to repair it if need be.

The day of my first flight had come. “To your planes” the instructor ordered. One by one we took our turns for our first flight. When my turn came and after I was strapped in the instructor spoke to me through the speaking tube. I was instructed to hold the levers softly and memorize the movements. After the third turn the instructor shouted “steer the plane.” It was much unexpected and as I struggled with the pedals and the stick the machine would not obey my movements. It seemed like an eternity and I knew my flying days were numbered. I could not control that bucking beast. Besides that I was terrified.

The instructor took over, after it was apparent that I had failed, with not a word. After we had landed I expected to be thrown out of the program and was quite miserable looking I’m sure. He looked at me and said “no one succeeds on their first go”. It was a reprieve. I was saved. I lived to fly another day.

Training proceeded apace with us all getting our hours in now that the war was over and we had time to be properly trained. I was too young for the Great Patriotic War but I was just the right age for this new war of aggression and I was spurred on by the Amerikosi’s attempts at using their atomic bomb on Leningrad. My third day on the front I finally received my plane. It was not a high-speed fighter, nor a dive bomber, just a U-2. It was re-designated the Po-2 after its designer Polikarpov. But it was still the same old U-2 I had flown throughout my career. The same plane I had always flown. It had gained a new job and it would gain glory and earn the hatred of the enemy throughout the war.

U-2

The U-2 is something of an anomaly. It flies so slow that high speed fighters have a hard time hitting it as it bobs and weaves while transporting wounded men, dispatches, flying reconnaissance and dropping bombs at night. The U-2 earned its nickname, affectionately given, of the Duck. But it was frustrating to be shot at without being able to answer back. I was shot down over 2 times in 41 combat missions. I longed to have a real plane to fly. One that could give as good as it could take.

That was not to be my fate for another 2 months. I was stuck with my Duck and what a time we had. The U-2 pilots had special status. We were invaluable to the war effort and when we carried dispatches we were expected to fly in all kinds of weather and land on postage stamp clearings in our attempts to reach the intended recipient. In return we were afforded “all assistance necessary” in completing our duties. Everyone from Marshal to Private was supposed to aid us in our duty no matter what they were doing they were to come to our assistance. A dispatch sent by Duck was of utmost importance and under severe penalty everyone was to complete our mission. We has special orders signed by Stalin himself that under penalty of death we were to be assisted in our deliveries.

I have many a story to tell but I will tell just one. I was assigned to find a detachment of Katyushas who were to make a retrograde movement out of danger. No one could reach them by radio and the French were closing in around them without their knowledge because of the storm. All I had was a compass bearing and I took off with the orders tucked in my breast pocket. After 2 hours of flying blind the weather cleared and as I was searching at low level for the rocket unit when two Spitfires decided to have some fun. I zigged and zagged dipped and rolled and totally frustrated both of them. The U-2 is very nimble if you know what you are doing and I did know what I was doing. Finally they worked as a team and one machine gun bullet caught my left wing and that was enough. I was going down fast.

I managed to land somehow pulling up just at the right. The Brits we so mad that I did not crash in flames that they strafed me as I ran with cannon and machine gun fire from all their weapons on full. I dodge and fell down a couple of times and played dead but the moment when I thought they were gone and started to move and they came again. Can you imagine wasting all that ammo and time on one pilot? I guess I really frustrated them. Too bad there were no Soviet planes around to catch them low and slow and without munitions.

Finally they ran out of bullets and reluctantly flew off. I did get hit in my left shoulder and it hurt like crazy. Dazed, exhausted and hurting I found a nearby road. A command car came racing down the road and it was not going to stop. I pulled my pistol and fired a shot in the air. The car still careened by me and almost hit me as I dove into a ditch. I was bleeding into the puddle and as I tried to right myself I left a bright red pool of water. The car came to a sliding halt and a full Maior flew out of the back door in a rage and dragged me from the ditch and of course he dragged me to my feet by my injured arm. I writhed in pain as he screamed at me for using my pistol. Before I passed out I practically stuffed the order from Stalin into his mouth.

And this is where the power of one piece of paper signed by the right person can stop anyone in their tracks. That piece of paper saved me from a firing squad. That piece of paper made a General waiting in the car obey a lieutenants orders. Immediately I was taken to an aide station to bind my wounds. That piece of paper then had a very angry Maior deliver me to the unit with the dispatch. That paper made a Maior deliver me back to my unit before he could do anything else. That piece of paper made a Maior into a Penal Unit commander. That piece of paper got my trusty U-2 back.

As I said I have many more stories each as harrowing at that one. I flew 41 missions in my Duck and as I said survived 2 crashes. I am a very good mechanic and many times have fixed my own plane. I have often been asked why I didn’t become a mechanic instead of risking my life as a combat pilot. I witnessed the grief on many a mechanics face and the heart wrenching fear when his pilot did not come home or was late. The bond between his mechanic and a pilot is sometimes greater than between man and wife. The mechanic will wait well past the time that his pilot can possibly appear. Listening and peering into the night sky just hoping to catch a snippet of sound from a very familiar engine. Just a faint whisper. Anything to keep hope alive. No… I could not be a mechanic and wait. I would rather know my fate when it happens than to wait on the outcome of another’s.

There was lots of talk about the new planes entering the war from our side. We all longed to fly a new Yak, Petlyakov or Lavochikin. I wanted the plane that seemed like a flying torpedo with slightly swept back wings. It was a plane that was already a legend, a small mono plane of classic shape, one that swiftly flew just above the ground dealing death to our enemies. A plane that climbed like a hawk was maneuverable, with a good field of vision and was armored and flew straight when hands free, one that almost lands itself. In short I wanted a Sturmovik.

My request for transfer was finally accepted and I found my way in front of the Regimental Commander trying to be brave in the face of his questioning. “But do you know what a hellish job it is to attack ground targets? A Sturmovik has two cannons, two machine guns, two batteries of rockets, various bombs. Not every pilot can handle such a machine. Not everyone is capable of steering a flying tank, of orienteering himself in combat while hedge-hopping, bombing, shooting the cannons and machine guns, launching rockets at rapidly flashing targets, conducting group dog fights, sending and receiving orders by radio — all at the same time.”

“I’ve thought it over already and I understand everything, sir.”

Never was there a statement filled with such ignorance.

After what seemed like an eternity I was assigned to the 805th Ground Attack Regiment of the 230th Division.

“In three days we are heading to Toulouse… be ready.”

My training commander tried once more to convince me to stay up high with the fighter planes but I would have none of it. I wanted to be down near the ground dealing death to the enemies of the motherland. I wanted to be close in. To see their faces as I tore into them with cannon and rocket. No… ground attack was for me. I made myself a promise that no matter what I would not fire on anyone who was helpless. Too many times being chased by P51s and Spitfires while running from my damaged plane I supposed. No strafing women and children for me. But if you try and shoot me down, I will kill you where you stand. I have fulfilled that promise too many times to count. That is war.

I found out that the new Regiment I was joining had just lost 60% of its planes in the latest fighting over the Pyrenees Line. Even though our planes were armor plated they still were shot down in greater numbers than any other plane. Of course there were more of us by far as well. Stalin did love his Sturmoviks. We were given 2 days to learn the Sturmovik before our final exam. I was sent to the 3rd Squadron.

Finally we were assigned to UI1-2 or 2 seat trainer Sturmovik with dual controls. I couldn’t get my fill of it, such a fine machine with cannons, bomb bays, external racks for rockets and bombs. It was not a plane but a flying cruiser. Every vital piece was covered by armor. My instructor took me up and when we landed he said I was ready for solo flight. I protested that it was only my second flight but he insisted that I take it up again… and then again. On the third solo flight the engine sputtered and stalled… I was over a large lake and I could not swim. I now had a very heavy glider on my hands but my only thought was to get to dry land. My speed and altitude were falling very fast and I knew that I couldn’t make to the landing field. At least I would make it to land. Somehow I managed to come to a stop just before a very large ravine filled with skeletons of animals who had not seen the edge in time.

The training flights became more and more complex. We were shooting at white Xs on the ground. Bombing old trucks, dummy tanks and railroad cars exploded under our withering fire. Some of us more withering than others of course but all in all a good Squadron. The Squadron Lieutenant Putkin stated that whomever learned the fastest and shot the straightest would be his wingman. To become the wingman of and experienced combat leader, what more could we dream of. The American pigs knew how valuable the leaders of the Squadrons were. It was not easy to pick out targets in the bomb cratered moon scape and how to avoid the ack ack and screening fighters in order to drive home your attack. If the leader fell then the attack could often times not be carried out. In order to learn the craft of leader you had to be the wingman of a leader. A wingman repeated the maneuvers of his flight leader in order to survive. Most Sturmovik pilots died within their first 10 sorties because there was so much to learn while staying in formation. A good leader watched out for the entire flight as well as himself.

My comrade Valintine was sure to become the leader’s wingman when one day he confused his levers and retracted his landing gear while parked setting his plane down flat and creating ram horns with his prop blades. He had tears in his eyes but no one had to reprimand him or scold him. He was his worse critic. He was a very sad man from the beginning and later I found out why. His whole family was dying from tuberculosis while he was fighting for them in the only way he knew how.

The next day, my only thought was of my upcoming first combat flight in a Sturmovik. I was not scared. I was a Sturmovik pilot! There were five regiments of our 230th Ground Attack Aviation Division: four of ground attack and one fighter.

We were sitting in our planes waiting for the green flare. My mechanic asked one more time if there was anything he could do and I responded “No I need to be alone with my thoughts.” I thanked him and just as he had jumped off my plane the green flare shot into the air.

I was given the honor of being the wingman of the flight leader. During the flight I did my best to stay in formation. When he made a maneuver I followed. When he dived, I followed. When he shot, I shot. When he dropped his bombs I dropped mine yet after the fourth pass I lost him as well as the rest of the group. I turned into our territory and found myself witnessing a huge aerial fight with dozens of planes. Planes were falling from the skies, pilots hanging from parachutes and all landing in the hills.

Two fighters dashed towards me like black vultures. For some reason I took them for our Yaks until their machine guns started spitting tracers. The Amerikosi were extremely insolent and took no care for their own defense. They attacked from different directions without effect. One of them overshot and filled my sights. I pressed the firing triggers and nothing happened. I was out of ammunition. I was saved by my fighter cover who even shot one of the bastards down.

A few missions later we witnessed a heroic sight. It was during a dogfight with the Spanish that pilot Rykhlin put on quite a show. He was hit by a tank shell, his own fault for flying too low. As he turned towards Toulouse he was pounced on by 4 P51s of the new Spanish air force. He had no chance to but to accept combat. Knowing the power of the front firing guns of the Sturmovik two of the Mustangs slowed down to attack from the rear. They were so confident that they even lowered their landing gear to slow down even more.

Rykhlin put his plane in a tight turn and unexpectedly they found themselves facing those guns. Both fell very quickly from the fire power display that tore their planes apart. The other two were driven off smoking by the already wounded aerial gunner Efremenko. This victory was won by a pilot who was only flying his second combat mission.[6]

We flew mission after mission from then on and it was exhausting. We had many losses. We hit airfields, ammo dumps, enemy troops even bombed ships on the ocean. This kind of pace was only possible with preparation by us and the supply section.

Soon we lost our flight leader, a fearless pilot and an honest and gallant man, Tit Kirillovich Pokrovskiy. Why him we wondered? But on we flew with the second in command taking over. He just exploded in mid-air from a lucky shot by some anti-aircraft barge probably manned by some heartless British pig. By the time he became our flight leader he had been shot down 2 times by.

We flew on stunned and we lost our fighter cover as they became embroiled in a fight at higher altitude. Then we saw them… Spifires trying to take off lined up oh so nicely right in front of us. “Smash the bastards!” Pasha was yelling into the air over and over again. We poured every piece of lead and anything that would explode into them. We lost five of our own but that squadron was no more… just piles of smoking rubble. For the second sortie that day we were led by the Moscovite Timofeevich Karev. There was no better leader and he had instigated a change.

His idea was to maneuver within the flight. We were now constantly changing positions and altitudes within certain limits. This kept us more alert and hindered the attacking fighters and ack ack gunners. No more strict formations and easy pickings. With our constant changing of speed and altitude it made life hell for the gunners on the ground and for the stalking fighters above. Once again our survival rate increased.

This is our little secret, but on the way back I still had two bombs. We were not supposed to land with bombs and there were some fighters on our tail. I saw a landing craft below and just couldn’t help myself. I pulled the emergency release and wiggled my wings back and forth to make sure the bombs fell. Mostly by chance I hit the boat squarely. Feeling lucky and somewhat ashamed of my lucky hit I decided to tell no one.

One of the fighters radioed that I had sunk a landing craft full of soldiers and tanks so my secret was out and I received a decoration.

The Regimental Commander lined us up and asked for volunteers. We all stepped forward. “No, no that won’t work he laughed.” I was one that was eventually picked. Our mission was to lay a smoke screen just in front of the British lines. No bombs no rear gunner just smoke cylinders. We had to fly for 7 kilometers in strict formation at low altitude. After the General had briefed us on the plan we were offered a chance to refuse the mission. Not one of the 19 did.

A sea of fire met us. Shells were bursting all around and I pressed myself into my armored seat back. The seconds counted down so slowly. Finally the plane ahead of me began to smoke. Thankfully it was only the smoke canister doing its job. I counted to three and turned mine on. It took so long to fly that 7 kilometers. Finally our mission was done. As we were landing a call came from the commanding General.

“Attention Hunchbacks!”

“Hunchbacks” meant us—it was the frontline name given to the Sturmovik.

“All pilots who flew the mission are awarded the Order of the Red Banner.”

Our hearts were bursting with pride as we landed and to the cheers of our comrades.

Later we found out that the smoke screen had worked and we had broken through the Blue Line. Moving towards the enemy it made him blind and allowed our troops to advance unmolested until they were virtually on top of the enemy. The Spanish fled in panic. They do not like to fight close in. The Soviet loves it.

One day I was summoned to regimental command post and ordered to lead a flight. I was one of only a handful of experienced pilots that were not killed or wounded.

Many considered it a suicide mission. We were to attack an anti-aircraft battery. Not the troops or equipment that they were protecting but the guns themselves. Normally we tried to avoid the ack-ack for obvious reasons. I knew we had to fly around the other flack units so we had to take a broad swing over the ocean. I hate to fly over water. Can’t swim and our life jackets were almost useless. Our target was another flack unit further in the rear. We were to assigned to destroy it.

We leaped over two other lines of flack units and dove on our targets and dropped our bombs then we gained altitude and came back with our cannons blazing. I saw vehicles exploding, infantry running and gun emplacements disappearing in balls of flame. Take that you bastards for everything you had done and for everything we suffered. Panicked vehicles were running over their own men in their haste to find a hiding place.

By hitting a unit so far back from the front it caught them by surprise. We made the best of it strafing again and again until we were out of bullets and bombs. Ah the destruction man can deliver to our fellow man is unnatural. Nothing but a hurricane or wild fire causes such destruction in such a concentrated area.

I looked around and my wingman was nowhere to be found. He had gone down in the marshes. We spotted them when they shot a red flare. I banked my wings and made a steep turn and indicating that I would be back and to sit tight. I marked the spot in my mind and went back to base. After landing I reported to the commander and then I got in a trusty Po-2 and headed back to the marshes and picked Zoubov and his gunner up.

He told us he had been damaged by ack-ack and then was finished off by a fighter. He admitted later that he thought I was bad luck when I first came to the regiment, but no more. “All my doubts disappeared when we saw you above us and you picked us up. I beg your pardon… most sincerely comrade.”

I was forced to go to navigation school. One of my fellow students was V. Kalougin know far and wide for ramming two bombers in two days when he ran out of ammunition. The first one he chopped off its wing with his propeller and the next day took down another by ramming its tail assembly. He of course was a legend.

One of our best weapons for killing tanks was PTABs. These were small armor piercing bombs that each Sturmovik would drop by the hundreds. Each plane could hold up to 250 of these little bomblets and they would easily go through the top armor of any tank on the battle field. We simply flew over them at low level and released the PTABs. They spewed out of their cassettes like a farmer sowing seeds, only these seeds sowed destruction for the capitalist pigs below.

I was given the choice of choosing my own gunner. This was never done and I was speechless. Just give me one I stammered. “Well we do have only one who is unassigned at the moment but he is kind of a queer duck.”

“I’ll take him.” I responded.

Personally I would not want to be an IL-2 gunner. It was very frightening. You sat with your back to the pilot in an open cockpit crammed against a heavy machine gun. Basically there was nothing between you and the 6 or so machine guns or cannons of an enemy fighter. You had nothing to hide behind and all the time the pilot is throwing you from side to side while you try to fight back. Imagine if your gun jammed or you ran out of ammunition. You could just watch death coming in the form of a Mustang. No I would not want to be an aerial gunner.

“He” was very young and very awkward. But what a choice I had made! I knew from the very first flight when he shot a flare at an unseen enemy fighter warning the whole flight. Yes I knew from that point on that he was going to be a good one and would serve me well in our fights ahead.

Anna Alexandrovna Timofeeva-Egorova

Chapter Three:

Found, One Atomic Bomb!

Mark Three Atomic Bomb

* * *

“Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”

* * *

The Hallway

Two aides are sitting outside the oval office and both looking at the latest addition of the Washington Post. They are in an animated discussion which is out of sync with the usual calm of the White House. Heated discussions and animated anything is highly frowned upon in the setting these young gentlemen find themselves in. They are surrounded by pictures of some of the most talented debaters and speakers in US history; speakers who are to this day revered for their animated discussions. But today is not the time for such a display. Nerves are on edge because of the very article they are discussing.

“Of course it’s not treason. I mean Walter Winchell mentioned it on the radio and Charley McCarthy made jokes about it. It was all over the London Times. It certainly isn’t top secret information anymore so how can it be treason?”

“I dunno it just seems un-patriotic to me to start spreading rumors about such a thing. I mean this can change the whole war if it’s true.”

“Of course it’s not true. Do you really thing that those pilots wouldn’t do everything in their power to see that it never ended up in enemy hands. No, they did crashed that thing as hard as they could and the Soviets are just bluffing!”

“Well they published the crew’s names and pictures like they were captured.”

“Ah you can’t really see their faces. Their wives and mothers couldn’t recognize them from those photos.”

“Well then how did they get their names?”

“Who says their even real names?”

“Murrow got to Mrs. Knutson and she admitted that her husband was missing before the FBI could whisk her and the others away. How do you explain that?”

“I can’t but I just know that no United States Army Air corps bomber crew carrying an atomic bomb would rather save their lives than let one get into the hands of the Reds. It just wouldn’t happen and you can take that to the bank.”

“Hey you two… knock it off. The President can hear you all the way from his desk!”

“Yes Sir… sorry Sir. We were just leaving.”

“You bet your ass you were. Now get over to the Chief of Staff’s office and wait there till I deal with you.”

“YES SIR!”

Inside the Oval Office

“Pretty rough on them weren’t you? The President isn’t even in here.”

“They don’t know that. Loud mouth little runts. I hate aides anyway. Who started this program?”

“What do you think about what they were discussing?”

“I have no idea what an atomic bomb looks like so they could be totally bluffing for all I know. All I know is that if they have an intact atomic bomb we are in trouble.”

“How so… they have no way of delivering it. No bomber big enough… oh wait they did have what looked like a fully functional B29 sitting there in the background. Were in hell did they get that if the story wasn’t true?’

“I heard that some of our bombers had to make landings in Russia when they couldn’t make it back to Okinawa after bombing Japan. I heard they never gave them back. It could be one of them

“But it’s got the correct markings and all I heard. They even printed the serial number of the bomber in the article.”

“I wonder what their game is?”

NATO HQ

Madrid Spain

“I wonder what their game is?”

“What do you mean Sir?”

“Why are they tipping their hand so obviously? They have to know that we know that that bomber was seen crashing full throttle into the coastal waters off Leningrad. We have dozens of witnesses. Hell I know Knutson and that crew. They would have done everything possible to destroy that bomb. From what I know of Jennings he would have been beating on it with a crow bar after he emptied his side arm into it. He would be attempting to destroy it until his dying breath. There is no way that bomb is intact and there is no way that the crew surrendered and they have to know we know this. Yet they are exposing the fact that they have a spy in place who could provide them with names and the serial numbers etc. Why would they place that person in such obvious danger and expose him or her as a spy? I mean it can only be a hand full of people.”

“Maybe it was that guy they caught already. He was pretty high up. Maybe they figured what the hell let’s foment a little confusion and dissension between us and the Brits. Make it look like we pulled a fast one and the Reds do have a bomb. I mean I bet the general public will think that they do. How can we fight that without revealing all sorts of top secrets to refute their claims? I mean all we can do is officially deny everything and call the Pravda article a hoax… which of course it is.”

“I suppose your right. Have you ever seen an Abomb?”

“No Sir and you.”

“Nope. That thing in the photo could be one for all I know

Joint Chiefs of Staff meeting room

Washington D.C.

“That thing in the photo could be one for all I know.”

“What are you talking about.”

“Hell it looks real to me down to that oddly placed arming access they added. Look there at the edge.”

“Well I’ll be jiggered. How could they know about that?”

“There was that scientist who disappeared after the polonium attack. He could have given them some last minute information before he skedaddled. Otherwise that is the real McCoy and I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“They sure are playing with us and the Limey’s. They probably don’t know who to trust now. We tell em one thing and the Soviets provide proof that it isn’t true. I mean come on those look alike crew members and that perfect B29 in the background and then the picture of the bomb. How can the Brits not think that something is amiss in our version and with this cold shoulder we’ve been giving them until the clean up their house and get rid of that mole? Shit it’s no wonder they have to be thinking non-productive thoughts.”

“Then you have those Southern Senators screaming at Truman to not help our cousins and even I would question just how far we are going to go and pay to bail them out once more. Did you see the budget figures? Holy Christmas we closing in on 150% of GDP in debt and those war bond sales are not doing too well. We have to get this over with and soon or our economy will collapse like the Brits and there is no one to bail us out.”

“All I know is that this was masterfully played by one hell of a chess player. I don’t even know who to trust now.

Number 10 Downing St.

London

“I don’t even know who to trust now. With the Yanks freezing us out and the rumors flying around Whitehall it’s a mess. How can we find out what is real and what is fiction? So they have an atomic bomb or not? How about an intact B29 to deliver it to London? This is unacceptable and the Yanks have to give us more information so we can make an informed decision and explain to the populous why we cannot give into Stalin’s demands. What do we do, evacuate London? Do we risk reaping the horrors of Hiroshima on our own people just to placate the Yanks. We have to know more… this is intolerable.

“What is Stalin demanding currently?”

“That we stand down the RAF, allow over flights at his discretion, military observers throughout Britain, the Royal Navy be mothballed and used only for defense of the British Isles, close off the Mediterranean to all US entry through the Suez and Gibraltar, expel all US military from all of the British Empire, freedom for India, Palestine etc., basically we would become a neutral power for the foreseeable future and lose much of our empire. And I’m sure there is more where that came from in the future if we acquiesce.”

“There have already been riots in the streets near Parliament.”

Kremlin

Moscow

“There have already been riots in the streets near Parliament.”

“Good… events are proceeding better than we planned. The Capitalists have never been very good at chess. Some day we will have to have a worldwide chess tournament and see who the best is. So far we have them reacting to our every move and they don’t seem to have the capability to gain the initiative. We have to keep the pressure on in all fronts both psychologically and with a clenched fist. Keep them reeling from crises to crises while we plan our next move. Never give them time to think or breathe… just react. That’s how we will win.”

“I must say that Beria’s idea to make public the capitalist bombing attempt on Leningrad was a brilliant move. Not only has it has sown dissension among the capitalist dogs, but it has hardened the wavering resolve of our own people. They now see how important it is to sacrifice everything in order to stop the threat of nuclear destruction by any means. Presenting proof that the capitalists slave masters were attempting to incinerate the helpless people of Leningrad was a master stroke. Now there can be no question that that this is a fight to the death. That the capitalist pigs will not hesitate to use the most heinous weapon ever devised by man with impunity and with no thought of civilian deaths is now foremost in everyone’s thoughts. This will harden even the most soft amongst us. This will prevent any thoughts of rebellion or of allowing dissension from any quarter.

Letter to the Editor

New York Times

August 7th, 1946

Dear Sir,

What may I ask is our government doing to end this war and save the people of France and the rest of Western Europe? We spent all this time and money on the atomic bomb. It seemed to have worked quite well on the Japanese. We didn’t have to blow up all their cities and they surrendered when we just used two atomic bombs.

Why don’t we drop a bomb or two on Moscow and finish this fighting up. What is the problem with the B29 and our pilots? I’ve measured the distance from Finland to Moscow and it is well within the range of the Superfortress. Why haven’t we just flown over Moscow like we did Hiroshima and end this war before it costs us more money and the lives of your young soldiers and airmen once again?

Sincerely

John Morton

“Pretty soon these kinds of letters are going to show up in Dear Abby, Bill. Then the whole nation will be asking the same question. So far we’ve managed to dodge the bullet but we can keep this up for long. We have to come up with some explanation that answers these kinds of questions without terrorizing the population.”

“What you don’t want to tell them is that the Reds can apparently shoot our bombers out of the sky at will and there is nothing we can do about it. Which means we have no way of delivering the greatest weapon in the history of mankind?”

“Hey don’t get mad at me you’re the one who climbed over the backs of your fellow man to become the President’s Chief Political Advisor and now you’re going to have to earn your pay.”

“You’re right as usual… you want to change jobs for this one? I’ll make sure they pay your more than I make? How about just for a week or so?”

“Not on your life little buddy. You and your Napoleonic Complex can reap the crop that you have sown.”

“Sure kick a man while he’s down.”

“You wanted this job now get you’re small ass out of my office and present something brilliant to the President.”

“Kiss my small ass.”

* * *

The Russian loanword maskirovka (literally: disguise, camouflage, concealment) is used to describe the Soviet Union and Russia’s military doctrine of surprise through deception, in which camouflage plays a significant role.

* * *

Chapter Four:

One Man’s Tale

* * *

This from a diary of an ordinary man from Neenah Wisconsin

* * *

Diary of Burt Post

Sept. 3rd, 1946

Dear Diary

Sounds strange for a 30 year old man to be starting a diary. I was born in 1916 and now I am 30 years old. My 3rd child, a girl, was born today maybe that’s why I’ve decided to start this diary. Ede Mae Post came into this world this morning like a house on fire. She will be a singer.

Maybe I’d better say a little bit about myself before I continue. Male living in Neenah, Wisconsin working for Kimberly Clark as a Chemical Engineer. I was not drafted or allowed to join in WWII due to the fact that my job was considered “vital to the war effort”. I guess coming up with new and better ways to make paper to wipe your ass is more important than killing someone. Come to think of it I guess they’re right.

Grew up in Springfield Massachusetts moved to Florida for a while then to Green Bay, Wisconsin. My dad was a real entrepreneur. Always on to something new. From a cart full of watermelons to 10,000 Christmas trees that he and his 6 brothers cut down in Canada and shipped to New York, it was always something. We never starved during the depression but it was tight.

Yes I am related to THE Post family. He was my father’s cousin. We visited his estate when I was a lad and while the other kids were playing with the horses and such I found my way into the library and was reading when Old man Post came in. That’s what got me a full scholarship to Lawrence College in Appleton, Wisconsin and where I met Maxine.

Maxine was a slender beauty of towering character and will who stole my heart. Her childhood was fairly well off. Her father was a dentist who was paid one way or the other. With a newly killed chicken or money it didn’t matter.

Three kids later brings us to this day.

Why am I starting this diary? I have a feeling that with the new war going on in Europe that things might get out of hand and I want to chronicle what I see from the heartland of America.

Today I filed what I hope will be the first of many patents. This one is a better way to wring water out of those wood fibers that make up a sheet of paper. Not too thrilling but it will increase the supply of toilet paper dramatically.

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 4th, 1946

Baby Ede is still crying up a storm. Glad I can give Maxine some relief in feeding her. Kind of hard to write in this diary while poking a bottle in the kids face. Man she is a cute one. Blond hair and hazel eyes it looks like. Too early to really tell. Nothing like looking into your babies eyes as you are nursing her.

I see in the paper today that my old classmate from high school is doing it again. Old Joe McCarthy is telling tall tales. In the previous elections he lied about his opponent’s age and said he was senile. That Joe always was a bully. He’s not too bad at a party but can be a mean son of a gun if he doesn’t like you. He always liked me.

Got a bonus today for that patent. Guess I’ll have to invent some more stuff so Ede can go to college.

Diary of Burt Post September 5th, 1946

Nothing much happened today. I got very disappointing news. The Chevrolet station wagon with the wood paneling was cancelled due to the plant it was being made in switching back to war production again. So their goes our plan of driving to Florida to visit my parents. With the rationing starting again and our old 1938 Ford being too small for our family it’s pretty much out of the question for this year. I was hoping that Chevrolet would not follow Ford and drop their new models for this year. This war is really messing the economy up.

Maxine will not be happy and she will let me know it too.

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 6th, 1946

Heard from Uncle Frank over in Michigan. He’s been visiting with my sister. Detroit is really starting to gear up for war again. I guess the workers are finally getting the picture that this war is for real and Old Joe Stalin is not the nice uncle we were led to believe. No more strikes.

I personally hope we don’t us the A-bomb on them. The pictures that came out of Japan just before this last war were mind numbingly gruesome. I guess conventional war is just as bad or worse but at least you can save some of the children and women who have done nothing wrong but to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can’t believe our military has shown such restraint.

From what I read the plan was to cut back on the ground forces and bomb whoever attacked us with our super bombers and A-bombs. So far I’ve heard nothing about our bombing campaign. There is a rumor that one raid was tried and went horribly wrong. I wonder what it was?

Walter Winchell is basically ignoring the war. He is concentrating on Hollywood gossip. I bet it gets him in trouble someday. That Edward Murrow is doing some interesting reporting. Too bad Ernie Pyle got killed. It is so interesting to hear Murrow reporting from across the oceans live from thousands of miles away. It sounds like the Soviets are making steady progress through the Pyrenees. Losing Spain will be a devastating development.

I hope Truman and Ike are thinking hard on a solution. Things are looking pretty grim right now.

Diary of Burt Post September 7th, 1946

We had Spam tonight. What is that stuff made of anyway? Maxine did a good job of it but this rationing is getting on everybody’s nerves after a year of plenty. It’s harder to go back once you tasted the future. I hope it is the future again. Things were looking so good. Truman was following FDR’s lead and putting the country back to work again on an economy based on the little guy and his wants and needs and now we’re back on rationing.

I guess sacrifices have to be made if we are to defeat the Russians. I just don’t know if it’s worth it. Our whole lives given once again to war. It just doesn’t seem right.

My younger brother Phillip, shipped out already to parts unknown while our older brother Dick goes to another training. He sure has been trained in his two years of the Army. Was he a swimmer; 6’2” with big hands and feet. He flew through the water at the YMCA. Still holds many of the records there. Then he went and swam across Green Bay. Now that was a feat rarely done and in record time too.

I wonder if they will use his swimming skills. From what I heard about the army there is not much of a chance.

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 8th, 1946

Had a great meal today. Maxine got back to cooking after the delivery and boy did she cook up a good one. Her mother had been filling in and don’t get me wrong, she is a good cook but there is something about Maxine and her spices.

Read an article today from the New York Times. The writer was discussing the two atomic bombs that we dropped on Japan. According to this report if bombs the same size hit New York more of us would be killed than the 460,000 estimated Japanese. The writer concluded the only way to avoid such destruction is to spread out and disperse our cities or to ban war.

I know most of my friends would like the latter.

Rumors that the Russians are planning to attack Britain just like the Germans did. Why hasn’t Truman sent them more aid? I heard it is a bunch of Southern Democrats holding the money hostage. Can you imagine blackmailing your best ally? What a bunch of jerks.

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 9th, 1946

Some doctor died today who was scheduled to appear before the judges in Canada. They moved the trials of the Nazis to Toronto from Nuremberg for obvious reasons. Although I’m sure Stalin would like to get his hands on some more of those murderous bastards. I guess this doctor poison himself rather than stand trial. Good riddance if you ask me. I don’t like the death penalty but if some guy feels so guilty that he’ll commit suicide I say give him the pills.

Looks like a bumper crop of food this year for us. I know Europe was hurting even before the war. I wonder if Stalin would stop this foolishness if we offered him some grain or food? He did give back those prisoners so I guess he’s not as insane as the press makes him out to be. I kind of admired the guy and the Red Army for what they did to Hitler.

Ede slept pretty good last night. I guess you can only cry for so long.

I’ll try and find some vegetables at the farmers market today and get some fresh farm grown food in the house. Maxine can’t do the shopping yet. Maybe I’ll drive down to Lodi next weekend while I’m in Madison. It’s just a little out of the way and my Maxine’s uncle runs a canning factory.

I’ll see if he can spare a case or two of something. Nice of the company to let me use a car. I guess that last patent I worked up for them is going to pay off after all. I hope they changed that left rear tire. It was almost bald last time I used that car. They say that the rationing shouldn’t be too bad this time. After all the Reds don’t have a navy to shut down our imports.

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 10th, 1946

That killing in July made the news again today. Still no arrests in that massacre in Georgia where those Negros were pulled out of their car and shot over 60 times. Two men and two women shot down in cold blood after one was released on bail. Nobody saw nothing. Sounds pretty fishy to me. One was a decorated veteran.

I got a letter from Phil. That’s two in a week. Pops says he’ writing them in Florida twice also. Something must be going on for him to write that often. Something big. He can’t say where he is of course but his letter had a kind of dried out smell and sweat stains on it like he had dripped sweat as he was writing. Makes me think he’s somewhere hot. Enough of that before some FBI guy gets a hold of this and I get in trouble.

Can your diary be used as evidence? Isn’t that like self-incrimination?

We decided to plant a Victory Garden once again and Maxine is looking ahead and getting seed catalogues sent to us. I really hate rutabaga but it does make for good pasty filling. I guess the old Welsh miners knew what they were doing. They sure make good pasties up north in the UP of Michigan. I’m glad Maxine learned how to make them. Pretty handy in the old lunch pail. Bob and Ade are jealous when I pull that still hot pasty out of the newspaper wrapper. Nothing like a hot lunch on a cool September afternoon.

Classic Cornish Pasty

Chapter Five:

September to Remember

* * *

The following is an excerpt from the Truman Committee which was started by then Senator Harry Truman to investigate the poor showing of American forces in World War Two. Now it is being called together to explore the opening losses of World War Three

* * *

Missing the Signs

The Truman Committee

PROCEEDINGS OF THE SENATE SPECIAL COMMITTEE TO INVESTIGATE THE NATIONAL DEFENSE PROGRAM

(THE TRUMAN COMMITTEE)

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 11TH, 1946

SECOND DAY

WASHINGTON, D.C.

The hearing met at 9 a. m.

Present:

General Earl Orbison, U. S. Army, Active duty, and his counsel and assistant counsel and aide.

Senators George Malone, Harry Caine, Homer Fergusson, Claude Pepper, Harry Kilgore and their respective staffs. See attached

Major Charles O. Manner. U. S. Army Reserve, took seat as reporter and was warned that the oath previously taken was still binding.

No witnesses not otherwise connected with the proceedings were present.

A witness called by the examining officer entered and was informed of the subject matter.

Record Page 57.

The witness was duly sworn.

Senator Malone:

“Thank you for all coming once again and without further ceremony let’s proceed. May I remind everyone that this is a closed session and everyone attending has the security clearance needed to hear the expert witness’s testimony. General Orbison you are still under oath and are free to give your candid opinion on the subject matter at hand. Let’s begin where we left off yesterday… I believe we were discussing how the Soviets are keeping their forces supplied and how reality differs with the JCS pre-war assessments of their inability to accomplish exactly what they have accomplished.

Senator Pepper I believe we adjourned while you had the floor. Please proceed.”

“Thank you Mr. Chairman. General Orbison please enlighten us on exactly how the Soviets are amassing this huge air armada on the Channel Coast and how they are keeping them supplied. From all the pre-war information this sub-committee received the authors of the plans were confident that such a feat was beyond their capabilities until at the earliest 1948.”

“Thank you Senator Pepper for this opportunity. Previous to 1944 that Soviets and most other modern nations and their armies have been able to advance no further than 350 miles in a continuous operation against significant opposition. Supplies have to be stockpiled well in advance in supply depots, bridge and railroad laying equipment pre-positioned, fuel and fuel trucks, spare parts… etc. had to all be ready fairly close to the line of debarkation…”

“Excuse me General but what does that term refer too”

“Basically Senator it refers to the jumping off point for the attack. Usually close to the current frontline.”

“Thank you General. If you could please keep the military jargon to a minimum for my benefit. I’m new to the committee and understand the terms we used in the Great War but have not caught up yet with newest terms and phrases.”

“Of course Senator. As I was saying: all these supplies have to be stationed ahead of time near the frontline and be instantly ready to follow the troops and tanks in their advance. Historically in modern times most major attacks could only advance 300 miles or so because of this supply bottle neck. If you will recall Patton was severely restricted in his advance through France and Germany because of the lack of fuel and spare parts for his tanks to put it simply. He had nothing but green grass and a few school boys a number of times between the 3rd Army and Berlin but he was out of fuel. The same is even truer for air units. Not only do they have to have fuel, spare parts, mechanics etc. they have to have a safe place to land which requires the foot soldier to capture, repair or construct airfields.

All of these restrictions have traditionally held most modern armies to a distance of 350 miles they could physically advance before they had to call a halt to the operation and regroup and resupply. The time period depended on the opposition but essentially it was from 10 to 30 days at the most for many of the historic successful advances or less than 11 miles per day on average. This is of course a rule of thumb and not set in stone.

The longest and fastest advance was 520 miles in 10 days…”

“And who accomplished that feat General? Was it Patton or Rommel?”

“No Senator it was Soviet Marshal Vasilevsky in Manchuria against the Japanese in August of 1945.”

“How is it possible General? In testimony after testimony before this sub-committee we have been told that the Soviets were still using horses and were on foot and where unable to advance in great leap and bounds. That they were inept and relied on human wave attacks and overwhelmed their adversaries with sheer brute strength and were incapable of any kind of sophisticated operations or planning.”

“Unfortunately Senator there are a number of racial or cultural stereotypes abounding in the US military. I’m sure you are aware and were probably briefed on the capabilities of the Japanese before Pearl Harbor. I’m sure they never gave credence to the grave threat the Japanese eventually posed to our national defense. Slant eyed, emperor worshiping fanatics without the ability to make a decent car much less run a modern navy and air force and all that kind of attitude. Well I would suggest that we were wrong about them and now we are wrong about the Soviets and their capabilities in certain areas including supply.

Essentially the Soviets are the inventors of what we now call the Blitzkrieg. They called it “Deep Battle” or “Deep Operations”. They published a manual on it on 1936. It did differ from the German version in that the Soviets created multiple breakthroughs and exploited them while the Germans usually counted on one large breakthrough. If properly done the Soviet Deep Battle is much more devastating than the Blitzkrieg as the Red Army had demonstrated from 1944 on. Our forces in Western Europe were victims of this devastating operational strategy.

In addition to their proven abilities to transport large numbers of troops far distances and to keep them supplied, we unwittingly gave them a gift. A gift of almost a dozen of the largest supply depots the world has ever seen spaced out quite nicely all throughout France, Germany and even Hungary. We did not have the personnel, nor the foresight to destroy those huge depots before they were captured.”

“And why is that General?”

“There were very few actual US troops at the depots. The vast majority of the personnel at the sites were German POWs.”

”Could you elaborate General? How was it possible that all this military equipment was basically unguarded and not destroyed?”

“Certainly Senator. Give me a few seconds to find the statistics… ah here. 108,890 POWs supervised by 1038 US officers and 12,560 service men.

In some cases the Soviets used airborne units to outright capture the depots. In other cases French Communist forces marched into the depots disguised as regular French troops and just took them over and cut communications to the outside. Quite frankly no one was thinking about those depots when the Red Army was minutes behind you. As you have seen from numerous reports and in particular the inspector General’s scathing report of January, 1946, the US troops in Western Europe in May 1946 were ill trained and ill led. They were for the lack of a better term “glorified policemen.”

“But how General are the Reds keeping their armies and planes in supply 4 months after the start of the war in a land that is starving, has had its roads and bridges bombed and destroyed by planes, overrun by armies, it’s transportation hubs blown up…? How are the Soviets able to repair and then transport everything they need to supply their troops and in particular their air force?”

“Let’s think of it in a kind of reverse order. The US armed forces is second to none in repairing and constructing roads, bridges, airfields, train tracks. No one but the British even comes close to our prowess in these areas. That is one of the major reasons we were able to win the war. We had to rebuild enough bridges, roads and tracks to supply our own very large forces all the way to the East German border. We had to build enough capacity in the system to re-supply our troops under full combat conditions.

The Soviets traditionally use far fewer supplies per trooper than we do. Combined with our perchance for over building and given the fact that the Soviets have themselves have been repairing and enhancing our work for the last 3 months, it’s pretty easy to see how they have supplied their forces to date.

As you know our air forces have not been able to penetrate their air defenses in any appreciable numbers. Their ground to air missiles combined with their huge air force has kept us at bay for the time being. Every attempted attack on the infrastructure has been met with massive force and very, shall we say, creative measures. Our losses have been unsustainable and we are pausing to regroup and reassess our options.

In May there were over 60 bridges over the Rhine alone. When we demobilized we left behind all the rolling stock, trucks, train engines that we brought from the factories of the US behind and were in the process of selling much of that equipment to our former allies and even Germany. The tracks and roads we rebuilt were in place and are now being used by the Reds to supply their forces. They are using our trains, railroad cars, trucks and even toilet paper. Instead of the traffic going just East it now goes East as well as West.

The Soviets are very familiar with our equipment as a result of Lend Lease. We actually hosted tens of thousands of Soviet mechanics and engineers here in the US and trained them here on how to repair and even manufacture our equipment. There were huge training schools on the East coast training our future adversaries in how to not only use but how to defeat our own equipment.

If you will recall from earlier testimony that they have had 3 fully functional B29s since 1944 to study and take apart. The B29 is our most advanced weapons system and they have it and have been working on how to defeat it for over 2 years.

They are systematically stripping what we left behind in Europe and sending it back to the USSR along with any equipment that the Europeans might have as well. For example Germany was actually producing more steel in April 1946 than it needed internally and asked permission to export it. France south of Paris was virtually untouched by the war and is being stripped bare as we speak.”

“General in previous testimony we were led to believe that the Reds were totally dependent on us for high octane fuel for their air force. Is this not the case? If not how are they able to make this technological leap in such a short time?”

“This is kind of out of my area of expertise Senator but I’ll give you what I know. Think of it this way. If you had limited resources and if one of those resources was being supplied by someone else. Why would you spend your money and time on developing that resource as long as someone else was providing it to you for free?

Now as to why they caught up in this area so fast. From what I know of this subject the Soviets were actually leaders in this field during the 20s and 30s. I believe it’s called “cracking” because you have to crack open the molecules in order to form other compounds. From what I understand if you wanted to get the best education and learn from the most knowledgeable experts you went to school in Russia.

The leading expert in cracking was a Soviet citizen. The vast of majority of the research into high octane fuel and other additives was being done in the USSR. The person most responsible for the process of inexpensive high octane fuel here in the US was a former Soviet scientist who was taught everything he knew in Russia. So as you can see once the Reds decided that they needed to make their own fuel it was not hard for them to do so.

So senators here it is in a nutshell. The Reds are using our own supplies, transported by our own vehicles and trains, over tracks, roads and bridges we repaired or built, along with the knowledge that we taught them, in addition to their own vast capabilities developed after the 1941 attack by Germany. They are well supplied and until something is done to change that situation it will remain that way. In time they will have all the supplies and raw materials they need to continue this war within the continent of Europe, which if the situation continues they will have total control of within 2 more months and then daresay they will be looking at the Mideast and the Mediterranean next.

And that about sums up the situation.”

New York Times

Missing the Signs of the Impending Attack.

Mistakes or Cover up?

by Brad Waivers

Were mistakes made in the opening weeks of World War Three? Are the people who made those mistakes still on the job?

Shortly after December 15th in what was to become the opening shots of World War, there occurred an apparent accident in a remote part of Arizona. A Greyhound bus was traveling at a high rate of speed when both of its front tires exploded. At the time it was deemed an accident. We now know it was a series of well-aimed shots from a sniper rifle. The flattened tires cause the bus to hurl out of control down a sheer cliff and all on board were killed on impact. Aboard bus 241 were 15 members of an elite engineering squad who task was to assemble America’s atomic bombs. Within a week 4 more members, out of a total of 22, were killed under mysterious circumstances.

One in an apparent mugging. Another in a hit and run accident. Two were killed in another car accident while home on leave for the holidays.

These deaths should be considered the first casualties of the newest war that has been force upon the world by the ruthless dictator Joseph Stalin; one of our greatest allies in the war against Japan and the Nazis of Germany. What made “Old Joe” turn on his former comrades in arms may never be known. Perhaps he saw an opportunity to rid Europe of capitalism once and for all. Perhaps he went mad.

Certain extraordinary circumstances had to occur for the war to have progressed so far in his favor. This reporter will itemize them one by one in this series of articles starting with today’s revelations.

DEMOBILIZATION

The public and governments of the US and Great Britain did not want a repeat of the fiasco of World War One. Troops were stranded for months in far flung parts of the world after the Great War and the people of the United States expressed their displeasure in no uncertain terms. Politicians lost their jobs over the unacceptable rate at which our boys were trickling home. Letters to the editor and demonstrations all over the country led politicians to vow that this would never happen again.

Plans were drawn up early in 1944 on how to efficiently bring the boys home. It was a massive and successful effort led by General Eisenhower himself. By May 1946 the forces left in Germany and France were mere skeletons of their former war time self. Almost all of the veterans who won the war were rightfully sent home. Most were not replaced. The replacements, who trickled in by dribs and drabs, were untrained in the art of combat. They were there to police the German citizens. They had no training in heavy weapons, no training in anti-aircraft operations nor were they trained in even how to drive a tank much less how to use one in combat.

This reporter has in his possession a scathing report by the Army Inspector General that puts the combat effectiveness of the few troops left in Europe at close to an armed mob. They were ill trained and ill led by the 90 Day Wonders who replaced the real veteran officers. Their heavy equipment was packed up and stored in 11 massive depots spread throughout Germany and France; enough equipment to arm and supply 80 divisions for up to a period of 6 months.

The tap of military supplies was not turned off, nor could it be turned off quickly after VE-Day and the tanks, fuel and bullets just kept on coming. It was backlogged and in the pipeline of Victory ships stretching all the way back to the East Coast. Who knows what other equipment or classified weapons systems have been put in the hands of Stalin and the Red Army.

These depots were brimming with modern radar systems and other potentially valuable weapons that the Soviets had only dreamed of. The Soviets, through a series of French and German based spy networks, knew exactly what was in each depot and where they were located. During the initial stages of the war a combination of highly trained French Resistance fighters and Red Army Paratroopers took over these depots. They defended them with the weapons inside them for up to 2 weeks until they were relieved by the fast moving Red Army thus providing the invaders all the supplies they would need for months to come. Many American’s did not know that a large portion of our French Resistance comrades in arms were devout Communists.

UNDERESTIMATING THE SOVIET ARMY

The Joint Chiefs of Staff have consistently underestimated the capabilities of the Soviet armed forces. Report after report has been pushed through the ranks and then out to the newspapers and radio about how without Lend Lease the Soviet army would have lost to the German’s. How the US and British troops and planes won the war and how the Red Army was vastly inferior to our troops. New evidence suggests otherwise and a newly written report seen by this reporter proves it. The Red army conducted an attack named Operation August Storm near the end of the war that should have been a warning shot heard throughout the military establishment. In this virtually unknown and unreported military operation the Soviet Army demonstrated its prowess in the art of Blitzkrieg.

In an operation in Manchuria, China they were able to transport dozens of divisions and thousands of aircraft from the West over 3500 miles to confront the Japanese in the Far East. Demonstrating a supply capacity and technical abilities previously not thought possible. Yet when their skills in the art of logistics was amply demonstrated the Western military experts chose to ignore their accomplishments. They chose to ignore them with the predictable results we now seen in Europe.

In next week’s article we will explore the question of just where is the atomic bomb in this war? Where is the US bomber force that devastated Germany and Japan?

“We have to stop this reporter. I mean what the hell. What does he know?”

“We can’t just kill him. How about we put him on ice for a while until SAC starts its operations. By then the world will know.”

“We’ll have to get some high level juice behind us on this one.”

“I’ll call Ops and see when we can move on him and his files. We have to find out what he knows and delay this for a good 30 days.”

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 11th, 1946

Reading an article on “Porky” Anderson and Hogan at this year’s PGA Championship. It was held in Portland Oregon for goodness sake. Didn’t even know they had enough days without rain to play golf out there. By the looks of picture in the article “Porky” lives up to his name. 5’9” and 240lbs. Now that’s a lot of man especially for a golfer. Hogan got 3500 bucks for winning. I could sure use some of that money. Looks like Kimberly Clark is expanding again. Too bad my patent isn’t in my name. I guess they did provide the lab and my salary. Kind of irks me however. You invent something that saves millions of dollars for your company and they give you a pat on the back. Oh well such is life.

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 12th, 1946

What a day! A police car drove up and escorted our two oldest up to the front door. John was supposed to take his little sister Lynn out for a walk starting at his Grandmas house. He got a little carried away and convinced his 4 year old sister to follow him downtown to see what was playing at the movie theatre. It’s a 3 mile walk? Anyway they were doing pretty well when Lynn stepped out in front of a car and fell down. Luckily she fell down because the poor women driving the car would have hit her square with the bumper. Because she fell down the two front wheels missed her by passing on either side. What a horrible situation for everybody involved.

I guess our little home town is getting too big for kids to run around loose for long periods of time. When I was a kid we would run out of the house after breakfast and then show up for lunch, run out again till supper and not come home until dark. I guess those days are over. We sure had a lot of fun playing army, Kick the Can, Kickball, baseball, Everyone Tackle the Guy With the Ball (gotta change that name) and a million variations of tag.

I just read about some guy in Pennsylvania that started an organized league for boys to play baseball before they are in high school. What a ridiculous concept. You got ten or more kids together, rock-paper-scissors for the captains, threw a bat in the air, one captain caught it, you alternated gripping the bat until the was no bat left and the last one to fit a pinky on the end chose first. They alternated picks until Eddy was left (in our case he was always chosen last cause he threw like a girl) and the last captain got him. Jackie was always picked way before Eddy and even most of the time before Bill, Bob and sometimes even Jeff. They whined a lot being a few years younger than the rest of us. Jackie had quite an arm and held the high school girls record for throwing a softball for years. Then we played for at least 3 hours and had a ball. Well… except for Eddy.

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 13th, 1946

According to the Post Crescent the new French communist government has started a social security system and universal health care. Don’t know why we would need either of those here. The kids take care of their parents and if there is someone is without kids they go into the home. Why bother with the medical care either. It’s so cheap. My broken arm only cost me $20 including the ambulance ride and an overnight in the hospital. I suppose it might be hard for some to do that but that’s why you have St. Elizabeth’s. They take in folks who can’t pay. I don’t know it just seems unnecessary. You’d think that someone was going to get rich on the misfortunes of others or something. Now that would be really bad for the country if that ever happened.

I suppose someone is going to say that we need social security for our old age because someone might come along and steal our pension fund. Now that’s really stupid. Who would do that and who would allow it to happen? No I expect to be well taken care of in my golden years with a good pension and great medical care.

Chapter Six:

The North Falls

* * *

One defends when his strength is inadequate; he attacks when it is abundant.

Sun Tzu

* * *

Collapse by RangerElite

Scandinavia in WWIII, 1946

September 14th

0945

Scandinavian Prime Ministers’ Summit

Karlsborg Fortress

Karlsborg, Kingdom of Sweden

In Attendance:

Mauno Pekkala, Prime Minister of the Republic of Finland

Tage Erlander, Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Sweden

Einar Gerhardsen, Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Norway

Knud Kristensen, Prime Minister of the Government-in-Exile of the Kingdom of Denmark

As the men take their seats, an air of desperation hangs heavy in the room. The situation on the Karelian, Salla and Petsamo fronts have decidedly turned against them, taking heavy losses outside Vyborg, thus handing the Soviets the initiative to roll the Scandinavian forces back to the defensive line close to Helsinki, the Soviets even having the nerve to shell Malmö from the Copenhagen harbor. Until this war, since 1814, the Swedish Crown and government had pursued a policy of strict neutrality. That was no longer the case, nor could it any longer be.

This war brought the powers who fought so hard to be independent of each other earlier in the century back together again in military alliance against a common foe

“Gentlemen, we need a miracle.” began the Finnish Prime Minister, Mauno Pekkala. “The Soviets are about to breach the final defensive ring around Helsinki. We cannot hold out much longer, and under the terms of the YYA Agreement of 1944, though the Soviets invaded us first, we would be considered as the aggressor and thus, subject to the full force of penalty to be administered by the Soviets. President Paasikivi has asked me to inform you that we will be asking the Soviets for terms of surrender, as of 1830 today. This notification is being given as a courtesy and we are asking that you begin issuing orders to your troops, that they may leave in an orderly fashion. We thank you for your aid in our valiant fight against Soviet aggression.”

There are blank stares from the other Prime Ministers as Minister Pekkala delivers the grave news. The melancholy is broken the Swedish Prime Minister, Tage Erlander “So we are to give up the fight and submit? Even in the world of Realpolitik, we know this can never be possible. The Soviets will not stop at the Finnish frontier with Sweden, for they covet the iron ore and coal deposits that are abundant in both Sweden and Norway, and we simply have our backs to the wall. No, no matter what I once believed in, politically, I am descended from Viking blood first and foremost, as are you all. Home and hearth, and its incumbent defense, comes considered before all else. We will respect the Finnish government’s request to withdraw our forces, but we will not give up the fight. We simply cannot.” Minister Pekkala smiles weakly, and says to the other three Prime Ministers “Officially, I have no comment upon your future war aims, but personally, I wish you much success in smashing the Soviet warmonger pigs!” and having said that, Minister Pekkala gathers his papers and walks out of the room.

Then the Danish Prime Minister, Knud Kristensen, stands up to be recognized and begins to speak, “Gentlemen, I fear that we may be facing war on two fronts very soon. I have received intelligence from the Hjemmeværnet modstand (Home Guard Resistance), smuggled out of Jutland at very great cost, that the Soviets have been massing special troops there with an as yet unknown purpose. We are uncertain if these are simply new NKVD units being stationed there to strike fear in our people, or if these units have a strategic aim.” At this, Einar Gerhardsen, Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Norway, takes his turn to speak “I am authorized by His Royal Majesty, King Haakon VII, to offer any and all assistance to our Alliance brethren, and to our Danish brothers, we offer a company of the Royal Norwegian Commandoes, to be inserted into occupied Denmark, for the express purpose of collecting further intelligence as to the intentions and purpose of the new Soviet troops…” Minister Gerhardsen’s remarks are cut short by a Swedish communications officer bursting into the room and yelling “We’ve lost all communications with Stockholm! The last wireless transmission from the Royal High Command said that Soviet paratroopers landing in the capital, as well as other cities throughout Scandinavia!” Under his breath, Gerhardsen mutters “This is Narvik and Trömso all over again”, as they are rejoined by Pekkala and hustled by Swedish Royal Lifeguard troopers into the deepest air-raid shelter in the fortress…

Paratroopers! By RangerElite

Scandinavia in WWIII, 1946

1025

Field Headquarters for Kenraali Aksel Airo

Outside Helsinki, Republic of Finland

Even with the help of the very well-meaning Swedes and Norwegians, Aksel had known that this was the only possible outcome from the very beginning, and had prepared for it accordingly. New caches of weapons and war materiel had once again been pre-positioned so that his elite Sissi troopers and other patriots would be able to bleed the Soviet pigs dry, a little at a time. His only goal since his release has been to do just that: make the Soviets pay for his suffering at the hands of their lackeys in Valpo and make sure his nation stays free. It worked for a while, and with Swedish help, they were even able to take the fight to the Russian pigs, but the Soviets merely did what the Russians have always done through history, and poured men and machines into the fight until they overwhelmed their enemies. The Kenraali was determined to mitigate their numerical superiority by using aggressive guerrilla tactics to demoralize their troops. In addition, Kenraali Airo had absolutely NO intention of being incarcerated again, for he knew that he would not survive this time. He knew that in order for his plan to work, he needed to stay free and direct the battles that loomed ahead. This time, he would not heed the word of the cowards that deigned to call themselves the “duly constituted authority”… in his estimation, they gave up the fight far too soon…

From outside his command tent, General Airo could hear the loud droning of aircraft engines, a lot of them, and began to hear shouts of “Paratroopers!”, followed by his aide rushing in and telling the General what he already knew, that they must leave, and quickly. They hurriedly began smashing radio equipment and setting fire to the papers and the tent, leaving only with a small briefcase in one hand, and his Colt M1911 pistol in the other. He assumed that the Soviets would try something like this, so now he would activate his chain of safe houses all throughout the country.

It seemed like hours before they arrived at the first safe house, some distance to the north of his former headquarters, only to find it ransacked and the area lousy with Soviet NKVD troops. How could this be? He thought to himself that he had meticulously planned everything himself, only telling the few people that he trusted, and never confiding in anyone from the civilian government. Someone close to him had betrayed him, and God Himself will not help this person once Aksel catches him. Into the only refuge he had left to him now he went, the deep forest hides, into which no sane person would enter willingly. This was going to be a long war.

The Royals by RangerElite

Scandinavia in WWIII, 1946

1030

King Haakon VII’s Royal Residence

Øslo, Kingdom of Norway

King Haakon was rushing to leave, for the second time this decade. Surrounded by his Royal Guard, he and his family hurriedly gathered what they could carry, on their way to the ship that awaited them. He could hear the gunfire getting closer, and in complete irony, it was he who saw the Soviet parachutes attached to their troopers falling gently to earth… HIS piece of earth! He suppressed his anger and plowed forward, grabbing aides and handcuffing briefcases to their wrists, assigning a Royal Guard officer to each aide. It had been fully two hours now since he’d last heard from his Prime Minister, Einar Gerhardsen, at the conference at the Karlsborg Fortress, in Sweden. For that matter, he hadn’t heard from the Royal Danish government-in-exile since earlier this morning, either. He knew that Danish King Christian X’s Prime Minister was also at the same conference, along with the Swedish and Finnish Prime Ministers.

As King Haakon and his family make their way to the armored trucks, they are joined by King Christian X of Denmark and his family. They hurriedly exchange pleasantries and board the trucks, then surrounded by a sea of their combined Royal Lifeguardsmen, begin the hard trip to the harbor, to the American submarine that had been docked there for the past week, training the Norwegian crew that would be replacing it, once the submarine was transferred to Norwegian command. There were a ring of flak trucks surrounding the Kings’ convoy to the harbor, all mounting 20mm Oerlikon cannon, elevations fully depressed and hammering away at the Soviet paratroopers. As the two monarchs were now fully able to see Soviet paratroopers running and shooting through the streets of Øslo, out the back of their trucks, Haakon and Christian drew their sidearms and began participating in their own defense, along with the Royal Guardsmen who readily lay their lives down for them.

As the convoy fought its way to the harbor, the way became clearer, as the Soviets hadn’t fought their way to this location yet, but Soviet aircraft flying out of Denmark, most notably the Ilyushin Il-2 “Sturmovik” kept strafing, raking each and every wharf, while every ship that was still in harbor and still capable, raked the Soviet attack formations with withering ack-ack and machine gun fire, keeping the Soviets at bay long enough for both Royal families to board the submarine, from which the combined American and Norwegian crew members kept firing their Bofors guns and machine guns, until all were safely aboard. Then, the submarine slid out of the harbor, rapidly diving deep to avoid the Soviet aerial onslaught, taking the Royal families of Norway and Denmark into further exile in Great Britain.

The End of the Beginning

Scandinavia in WWIII, 1946

In a bold and completely unexpected airborne attack, the Soviet Union knocked the nations of the Scandinavian Alliance momentarily out of the fight. In cities large and small all across Finland, Sweden and Norway, special Soviet NKVD and GRU airborne troops search for civilian and military leaders, to either capture and send back east, or to “liquidate” on the spot, as an example of what happens to those who defy the will of the Soviet “people”, meaning Iosef Stalin.

What the Soviets had not counted on was the lessons of earlier in the decade having not been lost on the people still left behind in occupied territory, and armed resistance springing up anew. The skill and fortitude of the Scandinavian peoples to resist and incapacitate their Soviet enemy wherever they were encountered was not lost on their occupiers’ psyche either, where lone or small groups of Soviet soldiers were murdered, scalped or mutilated in some other unimaginable way, and hung up for display, where they would be visible to the Soviets in control of those areas. The reprisals were terrible and finally a stalemate was achieved. And during this stalemate, both sides made their plans and sought ways to gain the upper hand over the other. There is a cold hard winter coming ahead, but the warmth and light of spring is never far behind the coldest darkest night of winter…

The Pope by RangerElite

Mediterranean Theater in WWIII 1946

0745

Private Apartments of Pope Pius XII

The Papal Residence

Vatican City, inside Rome, Social Republic of Italy

“This is simply an outrage! How could this have happened?” asked The Pope. He was just handed a message from the speaker of the Italian Parliament demanding the return of the Vatican to its rightful owners, the Italian people, and the renunciation of the Vatican’s claim of independence from the Italian state, by midnight. He had read the reports over the past few days of Italian troops massing at the demarcation line, according to his intelligence officers of the Swiss Guard, these were troops that were deemed “politically reliable” by their Soviet puppet masters. Pope Pius XII calls into his office the commander of his Swiss Guard.

A few moments later, the commander of the Swiss Guard enters the room, kneels and kisses the Pope’s Sigil ring, and arises to give his report. As he concludes his report, he adds a personal note, “Your Excellency, I will stand and fight for you, and our faith, to the very last. It will be my honor to serve you to the very end. I have polled every last man under my command and informed them that there is no shame in them leaving to tend their families back in Switzerland. They have all decided to stay and fight, to the last man, to the last bullet, to the last pike, if need be.

We are at your disposal.” The leader of God’s church on earth was left momentarily speechless, but quickly regained his composure “Comandante, I will not allow it to come to that. We are going to utilize the “Odessa” network that the German Nazi SS put together to escape Europe. No, comandante, we are headed for Jerusalem, the true seat of the Roman Church. We have been in secret talks with our Greek Orthodox brethren for quite some time now and are close to merging our sects again, for the first time in nearly a thousand years, and we will have unfettered access to all of the Katolikos of Jerusalem’s facilities. That, I believe, comandante, is worth the loss of our seat in Rome” the leader of the Pope’s personal body guard looks stunned, appalled at the naked lust for power as depicted by a man he thought he knew, then composed himself and excused himself from the Pope.

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 14th, 1946

Not much going on today. Rumors of a major battle over the skies of Britain. Wish them well. Apparently we can’t be of much help for some reason. Production problems, political ministrations by those Southern Senators, who knows. Imagine purposefully not helping an old friend and ally just so a sitting president won’t get re-elected. Just to make him look bad. It’s nothing but treasonous in time of war if you ask me.

Maxine is becoming a wife again. Before she was just a mother but now she is cooking and cleaning again. We made love for the first time after the birth of Ede. Very nice to hold the women you love in your arms once again. She seems to enjoy herself. I know I do.

Read an article in the NY Times about a tiger in India. Killed 17 villagers before someone shot it. As if they don’t have enough trouble there with the rebellion or quest to be free depending on who you talk to. I’m glad the US never really had any empire outside of Philippines and Cuba anyway.

What a mess the Philippines was. That Smedly Butler[7] made a great case in the 30s that while he was a Marine he was nothing but an enforcer for American business concerns who acted like gangsters, businesses like the American Fruit Company and Standard Oil. When every time something didn’t go their way they called in the Marines just like they were their own special police force or gang enforcers. We’ve made a lot of enemies all over the world including many countries in Central and South America. I know the leaders are on our side but what about the people. Communism might seem mighty tempting to a peasant working 16 hour days in some rich guys silver mine while his family starves thanks to the company store. Come to think of it that is mighty close to our own coal mines.

There were a large number of strikes before this war. It could happen again if we don’t win it soon. I don’t think the American public is going to stand for another long drawn out war like the last one. I guess we have to use the atomic bomb on them. I wonder why we haven’t done so already. Well I guess they have their reasons.

I got a letter from Fred Schneider’s wife. He died last week. He was involved with the atomic program I believe. She didn’t say but from the tone of the letter it sounded like Fred got a dose of something real bad. Just like those awful pictures from Japan before they started to censor things. I got the feeling from her hand writing that she was sick too as was little Fred Jr. Such a shame Fred was way too young to die. Glad I stuck with paper. Can’t die too easily from a paper cut.

Smedley Darlington Butler America’s most decorated hero

Chapter Seven:

Bone Yards

RAF Maintenance and Aircraft Recovery unit 14 stationed in Carlisle

* * *

It is the rule in war, if ten times the enemy’s strength, surround them; if five times, attack them; if double, be able to divide them; if equal, engage them; if fewer, be able to evade them; if weaker, be able to avoid them.

Sun Tzu

* * *

Expect the Unexpected

September 15th, 1946

The RAF raid was not a disaster. It went pretty much as planned. The VVS rose to the occasion and gave as good as they got. It was noted that the vast majority of Soviet fighters were of the Yak 3 and La 7 variety. Short range fighters for the most part which made sense since they were on the defensive. Losses on both sides were acceptable unless you were the wife, mother, father, child or sweet heart of the fallen. Then it was devastating.

Each side lost 50 or so aircraft from all sources. The majority of the Soviet pilots that survived lived to fight again and the majority of the 53 British pilots were killed or captured as they bailed out or crashed into the Belgian country side. It was a fact as the Germans learned in the First Battle of Britain that the side that was on the offensive lost the majority of their crews shot down over enemy territory.

What happened next was startling to the RAF radar operators, and then Fighter Command. Just as the majority of the RAF fighters and bombers returning from the raid crossed into British territory, two Soviet 1000 plane raids were detected forming over Brest and Ringkobing in Denmark. By the time the RAF fighters had all landed these massive raids had started to cross the Channel. One seemed headed towards Wales and the other Scotland.

Fighter Command started to look at their charts and maps with increasing urgency to try and figure out where these swarms of planes where headed. They had no idea which of the possible targets were destined for destruction, until minutes before the bombs fell. Then they were dumbstruck and enraged at themselves for not predicting where the raids were going and what was to befall the virtually unguarded machines and workers targeted.

The route taken by each separate 1000 plane raid circumvented the largest concentrations of radar guided AA guns and few kills were made. At a pre-assigned spot on the map the huge raids split into smaller groupings and headed towards different targets yet stayed within support of each other.

The targets in the cross hairs of the Soviet bombers and fighter bombers were not defended well. No one had thought of them as primary or even secondary targets worthy of a major Soviet attack. The victims on the ground of these massive attacks could only look around themselves in horror as the bombs started to scream down upon their heads. Each one seemed to be aimed directly at them, but of course they weren’t. The strafing Yak 9DD fighter bombers were indeed aiming at them however. They seemed to be purposefully targeting personnel and places where valuable mechanics, engineers, armorers and grounds crewmen would be trying to hide from the cluster bombs and Soviet version of napalm bombs that were raining down. The Yak 9s with the 37mm cannons punched holes in whatever material got in their way including skin and bone.

The parachute slowed cluster bombs and napalm started terrible fires and chewed through their intended targets like a whip saw through butter. Huge swaths of destruction followed in each of the Tu2S medium bomber’s wake. Traveling at over 500 km an hour, these proven workhorses of the VVS left devastation behind them. Massacring the few AA crews who valiantly tried to defend the un-defensible. Too few for so many targets. Too few for so many flammable concentrations of fuel. Too few for so many piles of ammunition, oil soaked rags and tires. Too few to even defend themselves.

After the bombs fell the various mini raids once again gathered together into two flying armadas and continued on their way. Fighter Command did an admirable job of rearming and forming Big Wings to pursue. The vast majority of the landing fighters from the previous British raid landed in 12 Group while a smaller number of squadrons were kept behind stationed in 11 Group for defense. 13 Group was filled with older planes and newer pilots. They were held back for training purposes, and they were now about to be thrown into the fire. The turnaround time for the fighters in 12 Group was admirable, but the Big Wings from 13 Group were able to reach the enemy first.

To the displeasure of the Spitfires of 13 Group, they discovered that the Tu2S, sans, its bomb load made a formidable heavy fighter. Tough, agile and with massive fire power, they flew with wingmen and covered each other like wingmen should. If you got on the leader’s tail, the wingman slew around and either scared you off or shot you down. Now add into the mix the fact that there were hoards of Yak 9s which made the odds a good 8 to one. You had a real challenge on your hands. The Tu2S did not drone on in formation but actually turned to dogfight.

Now normally this would have been a reasonably one sided affair, but when you add into the mix the Yak 9s, and you had a real tiger by the tail. A target rich environment to be sure… yet a targeted rich environment, as well. Needless to say, not many attacks were pressed home by either side. Losses were few as a Spitfire would maneuver onto the tail of the slower less nimble yet jinking and turning Tu2S Bat only to have his wingman expertly get on the leading Spitfire’s tail only to have the Tu2 wingman have his tail placed in danger by the wingman of the lead Spitfire only to have that Spitfire threatened by up to four Yak 9s. The Tu2S also had the distinct advantage of two rear firing gunners and substantial front facing firepower as well. The Spitfire who took on a Tu2s from head on or even front at an angle found himself facing a lot of lead.

Because of the utter surprise, the Yak 9DDs had made full use of their wing tanks and had plenty of fuel to carry the dogfight on for as long as they needed. There was no running home because of lack of fuel. No having only 10 minutes of combat time over the target like the Germans in 1940. The Yak 9DDs code named Long Franks were in this for the long term and were not running. The Tu2S Bats had a range of over 2000 km. By the time many of the Group 12 Big Wings were able to catch up to the fast bombers the two 1000 plane raids had joined up into one massive 2000 plane swarm. One raid started a circular route from the South near Brest, France and other from the East in Denmark. The squadrons of 12 Group had to make the choice to attack head on or to waste time maneuvering for a better attack position. A number of frustrated Squadron commanders from 12 Group made the choice to bore right in and received a warm welcome from the two forward firing Barezin B-20 cannons of the Tu2S. It is an unwelcome match for the two 20mm cannons of your own machine. No, the Tu2S Bat did not die easily and could take quite a bit of punishment.

All in all, a very frustrating day for both groups of fighters who could not stay on each other’s tails long enough to get a good burst in. There was a lot of deflection shooting with remarkably few hits. Fighter Command blinked first, as the British radar on the coast caught the first ghostly echoes of another massive Soviet raid coming into range over France. They appeared to be headed towards London. Group 13 then Group 12 were recalled before the makeup of the newest massive group was discovered. They were the short range fighters escorting Pe 2s code named Bucks who turned around before land fall. A feint that had worked.

Losses were relatively low on both sides. 21 Tu2s, 24 Yaks, 29 Spitfires. The British jets did not have the range to participate in the fight. Hardly the decisive battle each would have wanted to win. As the fast bombers with their trusty escorts flew back unmolested towards the Channel heads were spinning in Fighter Command. Some were sure to roll as well. The Soviets had utterly destroyed their intended targets without losing more than a handful of planes. The loss of the targets attacked could prove utterly devastating to the RAF in a short term battle with the VVS.

No More Bones to Pick

Billy picked himself up. He still couldn’t hear anything but the explosions has stopped, and the heat had died down. He could feel that at least. As he looked around he could not comprehend what he saw. What had been hectors of stored aircraft and repair facilities were now smoking, burning rubble with flames reaching for the sky and smoke blotting out the sun. Incredible carnage as far as his eye could see. He only had one eye now as a result of the second explosion that had knocked him down as he tried to man his dual 40 mm anti-aircraft gun. He may have nicked the plane that took his eye, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t even walk straight, probably something to do with his ears.

One eyed and deaf he wandered around trying to avoid the biggest fires and to search for anyone else. He found a wounded woman and tried to help her, but she screamed and curled up into a ball when she looked at him. At least it looked like she was screaming. Mouth open and that look of shock and fear. Yes she was screaming, only he couldn’t hear her. He then felt the something kind of bouncing on his cheek and realized it was his left eye. No wonder she screamed. What the hell do you do with an eye that’s hanging out of its socket? Do you try and put it back? He felt tired and collapsed near the curled up woman.

The piece of charred acreage that Tom was dying on was the home of the former RAF Maintenance and Aircraft Recovery unit 14 stationed in Carlisle. Hundreds of old Spitfires had been transported here for repair and refurbishing. Parts were cannibalized and swapped by the thousands. Hundreds of Spits had been rebuilt almost as good as new by the hundreds of skilled craftsman who used to live and work here. Now the Spitfires where pieces of burning junk and many of the skilled artisans were dead or dying. Tom was one of them. He could make a Merlin hum. Now he couldn’t even hear one even if he hadn’t passed out.

No one had thought to harden or even defend in detail this bone yard of World War Two surplus Spitfires that were about to be refurbished. Parked in neat rows ready for this or that part, they had been easy to destroy. All lined up ready for the cluster bombs and napalm of the Soviet bombers and fighters. Who had thought that the VVS could reach Carlisle in force? Who thought the Soviets knew about Carlisle and its gold mine of spare parts and mothballed Spits? Who thought that the Soviets knew where the most talented scroungers and scavengers in the United Kingdom were concentrated on this day?

Nineteen other bone yards had been attacked and all but two destroyed. Thirteen of the largest RAF Maintenance Units[8] had ceased to exist as a unit today. 982 surplus Spitfires were destroyed along with hundreds of other aircraft. The greatest loss was to the highly trained mechanics and ground crews. The end result of the first 1000 plane raids by the VVS was that there were not more than a hundred surplus Spitfires available for the next three months and barely enough personnel to put them back together again. The attacks devastated the moral of the RAF in the short term. Shocked the British people and government into an almost catatonic state and brought home the fact that there was nowhere to hide from the Soviet Voyenno-Vozdushnye Sily.

Every inch of the British Isles was within range of a massive enemy air force and once again a small but determined few would attempt to save their small nation from an attack from above.

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 15th, 1946

Just saw an advertisement for a new movie coming out before Christmas called “It’s a Great Life or Wonderful Life”, directed by Frank Capra. I sure liked his movies about the war effort. Those “Why We Fight” movies sure got me stirred up.

Usually I don’t like this kind of thing but it could be good. It stars Jimmy Stewart. I guess he made it before he went back in to the Army Air Force. It has angels and a redemption theme. His love interest is a new girl named Donna Reed. She is cute. A guy at the barber shop showed me a nude picture of her. I guess those starlets have to get on screen somehow. The casting couch must not be a myth. I sure wish I was a Hollywood Director. On second thought I wouldn’t give up my family for a chance at bedding the most beautiful girls in the world…

The economy is really slowing down again for civilian products. The military stuff is taking over again. I guess Truman and his brain trust are starting to get their head out of their ass. I heard it was the big wig corporate types that didn’t want to go into debt further. Hell we just fought a war to save those poor folks over there and they are worried about business when another tin pot dictator comes along. If you ask me if you put business before your country you are a traitor and should be treated as one. Imagine trying to fight a war without asking the average man to sacrifice anything while your fighting men are dying and getting maimed and you sitting at home worried about the next good movie.

I do what I can. I tried to join but they keep saying my job is critical to the war effort. Who would have thought that paper and paper products were a critical part of the war effort.

Bill Swain is still not able to come back to work. According to Mary he has horrible nightmares about his time in Guadalcanal. He wakes up screaming and is pouring in sweat. I guess he even attacked Mary before he came out of it. Combat must be terrible. I wonder if there is any help for these guys? I guess they call it battle fatigue or something. Old Blood and Guts Patton almost lost his job because he didn’t believe in it and slapped that soldier. After being with Bill I believe it. Something’s just aren’t meant for the average man to endure. I wonder how many hand to hand combat situations Patton got himself in to? Maybe he’s just one of those rare individuals that can live with killing a man up close. No one knows how they would react until it happen to them.

* * *

A little more from Mr. Post’s diary

* * *

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 16th.

Just heard about the forth major airline crash in just a couple of days. 23 people killed in this one somewhere in Africa. Gambia I think. The only reason I notice was that I have to fly to New York after taking the train to Chicago. I rather keep my feet on the ground thank you, but the boss says I can’t take the time to take the train all the way. I wonder what can be so urgent that you can’t take a train? Things are sure speeding up these days. Thank goodness I don’t have to fly until next week. It gives me time to break the news to Maxine.

I decided to start running for exercise and to keep in shape. People were looking at me like I was crazy so I tell them I’m training. I don’t say what for but I assume they are thinking boxing. It really helped to clear my mind. Brought back memories of running the 2 mile in college without the vomiting at the end.

We got together with the Brown Outs as usual. Once a month without fail we meet at one of the member’s houses. Last night it was the McKees. Fun, food and games is the order of the day. Maxine’s Mom baby sat. Nice having family only a few miles away. Great bunch of friends the Brown Outs. We got our name from meeting during the war. Since Wisconsin was far from the action we had brown outs instead of black outs. I suppose they’ll have to start that foolishness again even though the Soviets don’t have a navy like the Japs.

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 17th, 1946.

Sales increased again. People are buying paper like never before. Just read an article that the population in the US will reach 165 million by 1990 and then decline. Came from the census bureau. They must know if anyone. I wonder why it would decline?

You know the fighting in Europe sure doesn’t make the news as much as WWII. I guess we’re all tired of it. Bad attitude to take if you ask me. Those Reds are more of a threat than the German’s I think but then again maybe not. It could just be another way of running a government. I don’t suppose I could get a copy of that Marx guys writing in this day and age. They probably have censored all that kind of thinking. Capitalism has been good to me since there were some limits put on it by the unions and Teddy Roosevelt. No more Robber Barons for us. Those days are over. Thank God the unions are too strong for that to happen again. Some people call the unions communist. Well if that’s so then that kind of communism is what we need. I heard that deaths in the coal mines were down again this year and child labor laws are a god send.

Senator Taft and a congressman named Hartley are trying to pass a bill that would greatly curtail the unions. Sounds pretty draconian to me. I guess Truman is fighting against it and calls it a threat to freedom of speech. This will be a battle to watch.

Diary of Burt Post September 18th, 1946

Heard from Maxine’s brother… my brother in-law. I guess he’s coming to visit. Says he’s going to head out to Alaska and take up commercial fishing. Some place named Cordova. Right now he’s in Hurley as a logger. I wonder how he’s staying out of the army? The guy is pretty much of a jerk.

Gets drunk all the time and starts fights in the bars. I only went with him once and that was it. Reminds me of a John Wayne movie where Wayne goes into a bar and picks a fight and the two fighters become best friends after they beat the tar out of each other.

People don’t realize that a punch in the face from a 6’4” 200lb man is a devastating thing. Breaks a lot of stuff in the other guys face as well as your hand. The only time I hit a guy it really busted my hand up. Hurt like hell. The movies are far from accurate. Two big grown men throwing haymakers at each other is not funny.

Anyway he’s coming and I have to figure out a way to not go out drinking. I guess I have a good excuse with a new baby in the house. The guys a maniac when he gets drunk. He belongs in Alaska far from women and children. I wonder how that part will work out. The women seem to love him for some reason.

Evelyn Dick

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 22nd, 1946

Thank God they finally charged that women, Evelyn Dick, with murder. I know the Canucks are slow but jeepers. A bloody torso that is missing arms, head and legs is found in town by school kids. They find body parts partially burned in the furnace. We have a woman whose husband is missing, borrows a friend’s car, brings it back with blood all over it, there are bloody clothes in back, claims an “Italian hit man” came to the house, then claims her daughter bled all over the car, then claims that another man made her drive to a dump site with a large bag, has a body of a baby boy encased in concrete in her attic, another guy’s wife claims she saw the trunk when her husband yelled at her to get out of the garage where a bloody saw, bullet holes and bloody shoes are found. And they are just now getting around to charging her with murder! The torso was found by the kids in March for god’s sake!

I heard there’s a song the school kids sing as they jump rope.

You cut off his legs…

You cut off his arms…

You cut off his head…

How could you Mrs Dick?

How could you Mrs Dick?

How stupid can you get? Well at least she will not get away with it now. I understand that Canada still hangs people. I hope she gets the noose. What a strange story. I suppose someone will write a book or make a movie about it. Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction.[9]

http://home.cogeco.ca/~mrcarle/evelyn.htm

Mark I

September 22nd, 1946

Bikini Atoll

South Pacific

07:23 hours

The fireball rose in the classic manner we all have come to fear and admire. The stem of the mushroom and blast of light and heat, followed by visible rings of concussion are a sight to behold on a movie screen. You do not want to experience them in person. A handful of army personnel did just that. The cap of the mushroom was reaching for the sky, pulsing with light and energy, visible energy reaching out to destroy all in its path. The trouble with this atomic explosion was that it was totally unexpected. It shocked the thousands of spectators and scientists floating at a safe distance out in the Pacific Ocean far from prying eyes but not far enough that the pens of hundreds of reporters could be stopped.

Months before the world’s supply of polonium 210 ended up in the lungs and organs of tens of thousands of American nuclear scientists, their friends, families and other innocent victims. Much of the polonium was buried six foot under along with the bodies of its victims in caskets lined with lead and covered in dirt, flowers and tears. The American nuclear scientific community was devastated and barely existed. New students were being taught by more experienced students but the professors, were for the most part, dead. They had died an excruciatingly painful death that they had designed for others. Much like the ones their work had visited on the citizens of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Their students had cobbled together enough material for 6 more atomic bombs. There were enough parts left in the assembly rooms and nuclear storage areas to fashion even more atomic bombs. From these bits and pieces they had fashioned one Mark I atomic bomb which was on its way to be dropped on Bikini Atoll in the Pacific Ocean. In the target area were dozens of surplus ships. The test had been originally scheduled for July, 1946. Then the war broke out. The plan was code named Operation Crossroads.

The original operation was to prove or disprove theories about the survivability of naval vessels during an atomic attack. The ships were to be anchored and filled with live animals and supplies etc. that would be studied after the explosions to determine if naval personnel and their ships could function after being subjected to the power of atomic fission. Some saw it as a test for the very survival of the US Navy and its relevance in a world filled with atomic destruction.

The atoll’s inhabitants, some 167 Bikini islanders, were convinced using prophecies of the bible, to leave their island paradise and were moved out of harm’s way. The purpose of the tests had been altered and many of the ships and the preparations that would have occurred were hastily forgotten. Now the test was to be of the Mark I atomic bomb. The design was inherently dangerous and that is why the Mark III had been designed using polonium 210 as a major part of the weapon. The Mark III Fat Man was considered much safer the Mark I.[10]

Many things could go wrong with the Mark I and many things could make it prematurely explode either conventionally or in an atomic explosion. The Mark I was the bomb that everyone knew would work because of its simplicity. The Mark III was somewhat of a question mark until Nagasaki. Because of its significant improvement in safety the Mark III using polonium 210 was the bomb destined to fill America’s nuclear arsenal and not the much more dangerous Mark I. That was until George Koval used the world’s supply of polonium to sabotage the US atomic weapons program.

The students of the original designers and engineers who brought the world the Mark III atomic bomb had to improvise and the Mark I was their answer… or so they thought. The reason the Mark I is so dangerous is because any number of things can go catastrophically wrong. A simple electrical short, getting hit by lightning, getting wet or a fire could set it off. No one knows what happened aboard the bomber. The former student of Robert Oppenheimer during one of his rare semesters teaching at Caltech, had designed the trigger mechanism. He had never assembled it before in earnest. This would be his first attempt under simulated combat conditions and he apparently failed his test.

30 miles out from the target the B29 Silverplate exploded in a nuclear fireball over the Pacific Ocean. If the Bikini test had not been scheduled no one would have seen what happened. But they were 289 reporters from the NATO countries that did see it happen. Although far enough away to not suffer any immediate harm some were not yet prepared and did not have their special glasses on and did suffer temporary effects to their eyes. Luckily, and by design, no one or anything was in the ingress path of the B29 Silverplate bomber named Bockscar. No one but the crew and the assembly person were immediately harmed. The nuclear program of the United States of America would not survive, however.

The lethal list of US nuclear accidents that became public knowledge and included…

2 September 1944

Peter Bragg and Douglas Paul Meigs, two Manhattan Project chemists, were killed when their attempt to unclog a tube in a uranium enrichment device led to an explosion of radioactive uranium hexafluoride gas exploded at the Naval Research Laboratory in Philadelphia, PA. The explosion ruptured nearby steam pipes, leading to a gas and steam combination that bathed the men in a scalding, radioactive, acidic cloud of gas which killed them a short while later.

21 August 1945

Harry K. Daghlian Jr. was killed during the final stages of the Manhattan Project (undertaken at Los Alamos, New Mexico to develop the first atomic bomb) from a radiation burst released when a critical assembly of fissile material was accidentally brought together by hand. The accident occurred during a procedure known as “tickling the dragon’s tail”).

21 May 1946

A critical nuclear accident occurred at the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory in New Mexico. Eight people were exposed to radiation, and one, Louis Slotin, died nine days later of acute radiation sickness.

13 July 1946

The Soviet spy known as Delmar (George Koval) releases polonium 210 by timed explosions during two separate gatherings of nuclear scientists and engineers in Dayton, OH and Oak Ridge, TN. The world’s only supply of polonium kills hundreds of America’s top scientists as well as killing and sickening tens of thousands of others who come in contact with the scientists.

Add to this our latest nuclear fiasco and combine that with the images of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the American public has had enough and more importantly Harry Truman has had enough. All nuclear weapons production ceases.

* * *

On a side note there will be 4 additional nuclear explosions before the nuclear gene is put back into its bottle. As I write this I suspect that the world will be a quite different place without the nuclear bomb. Quite different indeed than it would have been if this height of insanity and evil had run its course and been allowed to proliferate throughout the world. Only time will tell if I am right or wrong. It would be interesting, to say the least, if we had a parallel universe in which to compare the two paths. One now decided upon in our universe and one filled with the unimaginable horror of tens of thousands of nuclear weapons. Perhaps enough to even destroy the world itself as unimaginable and insane as that may seem.

* * *

Anti-Atomic Bomb Rally Washington D.C. 1946

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 24th, 1946

Just read that prices increased by 12% this year. My salary sure didn’t. The way prices are going up, I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to save enough to buy that new radio. I looked at them again on my lunch hour. The salesman showed me the inside. It was full of glowing tubes. It was just wonderful. He told me that if one of the tubes burned out you just went to the hardware store and buy another. They even have testing machines to see if your tube is bad.

I don’t think the war bond drives are going very well. No one has the money to buy them. The cost of food is going up and the taxes have to stay high to pay for the war it’s kind of a no win situation. Plus there’s the fact that many just can’t see the sense in bailing out the French again much less the German’s. I’m sure we won’t let Britain fall. If the British navy and the US navy can’t keep the Reds on their side of the channel then nothing can. I just wrote “their” side. Already it’s starting to seep into our consciousness. “Their” side, not occupied France or Denmark or even Germany. How fast change becomes the normal. I’m going to work on that. It’s not “theirs”. It belongs to the people of Western Europe and we have to give them the chance to choose once again.

Can you imagine being in occupied France? Once again occupied by a foreign power. It must be almost unbearable. I guess that’s why that guy DeGaul did what he did. He just couldn’t take it anymore. Just couldn’t see his country raped one more time.

Chapter Eight:

Opening Moves

Burt Post, Maxine and Charlie

* * *

Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster.

Sun Tzu

* * *

Dreamers will dream

The Slaughter

He couldn’t believe the Soviets kept coming. It was a slaughter with Red fighters and bombers falling from the skies as far as the eye could see. The AA guns and the proximity fuse were destroying the enemy as a prodigious rate. He started out the day worried that he would not get a chance to tear into the waves of bombers that made it over the channel. They obviously had no idea of where they were going. Flocks of bombers and their escorting fighters wandered off from the main bomber stream and that was his squadron’s chance. Free from the AA zones set up around the airfields, the bombers and their Yak escorts were fair game.

The total superiority of the Spitfire Mark XIV was evident immediately. They could out turn, out accelerate and just plain out-maneuver any of the Yak and Lag models. They could boom and zoom or burn and turn with impunity. It was like the Marianas Turkey shoot the US experienced in the Pacific in the last war. The Tu2 bombers were sitting ducks a full 100 kph slower than the Spits and lumbering along at medium altitude in formations that stretched from horizon to horizon. It was like shooting ducks in the proverbial barrel. The .23mm cannons firing from the dorsal and tail guns seemed to have no effect. The Soviet gunners were so bad you could come right up behind the Tu2s and blow them to hell.

Hell you could throttle back and weave through the waves of bombers and just jink to the left or right and take down another bomber. When the Yaks finally got into the fight it was child’s play. They would scream into defend their bombers and end up in front of your Hispano cannons and just a touch of your trigger and they would explode faster than the Zero fighters in the Pacific. It was surprising how easy they exploded. It got so easy that he switched to just his machine guns to save cannon rounds for the bombers.

He was getting 3 kills a mission. Larry was getting 5; it was insane. His plane was grounded for much needed maintenance. He decided to assist with a 3.7” AA gun crew just to see how things were going. When the first raid of the day was detected the crew started to pile up the shells and performed some minor tweaking of the sights, adjust the radar, lubricate the gears, test out the loading mechanism etc. HQ past word down that it looked like their airfield was going to be the target. The radar stations were getting so accurate that they could tell what kind of planes were coming. The Soviets had tried a few fighter sweeps but they were detected and ignored for the most part. The tension started to mount as they did the hardest thing you do in a combat situation… wait.

Then they heard it. The drone of internal combustion engines power propellers tearing through the air towards you. It was thrilling in one sense and ominous in another. Then the dots start to appear. Next came the flaming wrecks dropping from the sky as the dots got bigger you could see the RAF dots tearing into the flights of bombers. Each followed by a black contrail leading to the ground. You could start to see the tracers from the Spitfires and a few Tempests reaching out into the hapless Soviet machines. Then the RAF fighters had to turn back as they entered the zone set aside for the flack traps. The Soviet squadrons came straight for them and straight to their deaths. The 3.7” guns reached out guided by radar and the aided by the proximity fuse. Once again it was a slaughter. The bombers just kept on coming. They didn’t even make it to the airfield. The 3.7” guns reached out and swatted them down at long range. Then the Bofors 40mm started to reach out on the surviving planes and more fell as the almost continuous firing of the Bofors defended anyone within close range. Then the 20mm started in.

The bombers were like a flock of drunken birds hitting a clean window. It was as if they hit a wall and dropped piling up on each other on the ground. It was sickening even if you were on the winning side to see so many beautiful planes being slaughtered one after another.

Bomber after bomber played follow the leader and followed their leaders in dropping from the sky. Not one made it through the explosive curtain put up by the flack trap surrounding the airfield. It was as if a force field from the science fiction books, had been placed over the field and plane after plane hit it and slid to the ground. Only the fact that the smoke from the burning wrecks started to waft over the field made it clear that there was no force field.

Just as the last bomber fell from the sky and the guns fell silent they heard a kind of roaring and swooshing sound coming from far away and more dots started to appear. These dots were closer than the previous for two reasons. They were much faster than the others and they were shaped different. So different that coming head on they had to be very close before their distinct shape could be discerned. Even the radar didn’t pick them up until too late. When the 3.7” anti-aircraft guns finally started to fire something seemed wrong. Their shells that had shot down the other bombers like magic didn’t seem to work very well. Oh sure a few of the bats were hit and fell in flames but nowhere near the numbers need to stave off an attack of this magnitude. And bats are what they reminded you of. They were the oddest planes he had ever seen. No tails and no rudders. Just wings… swept back wings. Then he remembered he had seen photos of these apparitions before. They were that German plane found near the end of the war, the Horton Flying Wing. Nasty creations with 30mm guns and an internal bomb rack. And here came those bombs. By the hundreds he could see them coming down through the whiffs of smoke caused by their dead brothers in arms. He could see the bomb that was coming for him. It seemed to be coming straight for his forehead and going to hit him right between the eyes.

Then he heard the warning sirens going off from far away, getting louder and louder until he couldn’t ignore them and he woke up with a start. Damn, the sheets were all bunched up and he had started to sweat. What had been a nice dream had turned into a nightmare. He guessed by all the commotion, that another raid was spotted by the radar forming over France. They always had plenty of warning and for the last two weeks they had all been for nothing. The VVS just seemed to be practicing… constantly practicing. He started to put on his clothes and knew he had to get to the bomb shelter. Unlike his dream, he was a mechanic. Just as necessary for the war effort as the pilots, but without the guts or glory involved. At least he hoped he saw no guts especially his. His place during a real raid was in the bomb shelter getting ready to help out with the wounded. Again not very glamorous, but needed just the same.

Ireland by Deathscompanion

De Valera was having a really bad week.

The NATO Allies were breathing down his neck to use Ireland as a base, while the Soviets were screaming at him to release all their airmen. Things had only gotten worse, when a flight of Soviet bombers got “lost” and bombed Dublin yesterday. That morning, he had summoned the Soviet Consul, and demanded an explanation. The Soviet Consul had offered his condolences, stating that it was a tragic accident, however, he had the gall to suggest that if Ireland was to avoid further “accidents” of that nature, they might consider joining the glorious world revolution of the proletariat.

De Valera’s meeting with Gray had gone just as badly, with ominous talk of the Americans taking matters into their own hands if Eire didn’t stand up to the communists. To top it all off, the IRA had been transformed overnight. Someone had flooded their coffers and supplied them with modern weapons. Most likely, it was the Russians, as they had only, so far, attacked British installations in the North.

The Dail had started grumbling and, unlike before, he didn’t think he had enough support to call a new election. Fianna Fail was now being seen as a communist puppet by some and a British puppet by the rest. He had to do something he would go to the radio and appeal to all those nations engaged in the war to respect neutral nations he would appeal to the U.S. public. If the Soviets could be won over via concessions, he would save Eire!

At the American embassy:

David Gray, Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary, was also considering the situation. Ever since Roosevelt’s death, he had much less contact with the White House, apart from orders to gain the Irish ports “via all possible measures of persuasion”. That was, of course, until today. A man, calling himself Lynch, came, with orders directly from the President of the United States. It had been decided that Eamon De Valera was too unreliable, and that Richard James Mulcahy, leader of the Fine Gael, had been judged more suitable. Gray was absolutely astounded, and demanded to speak with the representative from the State Department. Lynch informed him that doing so would be seen as his resignation, and replacement by a man less knowledgeable on Irish affairs. Seeing no choice, Gray agreed, and suggested consulting with the British about the operation. He was flatly told that Britain would have absolutely no part in this, and any communication would be seen as treason. Although Gray had severe doubts about the plan and Lynch, he felt that there was no alternative.

Outside Leinster House, in Dublin:

De Valera had decided to visit his family, and rest for a day, as he prepared to lead Ireland through its greatest crisis, since the civil war. He had little time for his family recently, and had grown distant from his sons. His wife had pleaded with him to try and fix it, and he decided now was the time to do so, as he may not get another chance. He had told his secretary where to find him, if necessary, before she left for the night.

The coup went well at first, with dozens of CIA men, and Garda officers, who had been sounded out beforehand, arrested the entire Dail, except for De Valera. Then, things started to go wrong. They could not find De Valera, and to their absolute horror, Mulcahy refused to have anything to do with the coup… at first. Afterwards, he appeared to reconsider, and asked to phone his wife privately. The Garda officers who were guarding him, allowed him to do so.

Within the hour, the House was surrounded by soldiers, and the CIA men, along with their accomplices, were all arrested.

However, when De Valera ordered a new election, in hopes of capitalizing on the failed coup, he found that he had misjudged the situation very badly. The coup had, in fact, discredited him, and Mulcahy won by a wide margin. The Irish people had been impressed by his calm refusal to join a coup that would have put him in power, and how he helped De Valera regain control.

The Soviets, feeling that now was the time to put serious pressure on the new government, ordered the IRA to launch an armed revolt, murdering many. Leaders spoke out against it as national suicide. The Soviets felt that, as they would soon control the Irish government, the IRA would be a liability, and would soon be destroyed by the fighting, the consensus was that the doomed revolution was a means to an end.

Mulcahy reacted quickly, deploying troops and ordering that all IRA men would face military tribunal for crimes against the state. He immediately handed over control of all the ports and airfields to the Allies, but not before evacuating every civilian possible to the countryside. He then told the Soviet Consul that an attack on Eire would bring Ireland in as a belligerent. He also negotiated the ports deal with NATO to come with a secret clause that brought to an end to partition, after the war’s end. As a sop to the Soviets, who were still reeling from their gross miscalculation, he offered to release all interned Soviet airmen, who requested such repatriation.

When the Soviets found out about the ports agreement, they realized that they didn’t have the resources to invade, and that diverting air assets from the coming battle would not be worth it. Ireland was safe, for now, but the future looked bleak. The IRA splintered into a pro-Soviet faction and an anti-Soviet faction, which proceeded to murder and terrorize each other.

The Soviets, through their fantastic spy network, soon found out about the partition deal and, through back-channels, informed and agitated the Unionists. Having been thus informed at being sold out to the Irish for their ports, many Unionists began rioting and sabotaging the war effort. In Britain itself, despite massive censorship, it soon became apparent that the Americans felt no need to consult Britain about interfering in its domestic affairs. This, in turn, would lead to problems in the future. The only bright spark was that now the NATO Allies knew for sure that, at least, some of the spies at the highest level, had survived. However, none of this would matter, if Britain did not survive the coming attack.

Phony War

Well it seems its back to the old phony war like after the blitzkrieg through Poland in 39. This time however both Germany and France were occupied. So far it was a different kind of occupation from what the Germans went through. Some French embraced their would be liberators from the bonds of capitalism. All took a wait and see attitude. The Résistance had many dedicated communists in its ranks and they were now the Mayors and police chiefs of the towns they lived in. They have been placed in many positions of power in the national government. It would take time for any kind of dissension to take hold in France. The French have had enough of war. They will wait and see what the future of their newly minted socialistic government brings. The war profiteers were starting to get nervous as the communist version of the Milice started to ask questions and poke around in their business papers.

It was a full week since the raids on the British Maintenance Units and bone yards. The fires had finally stopped and the RAF was madder than a wet hen. They mounted a few raids of their own which did not produce great results. Like the Germans in the Battle of Britain they had no assets on the ground to speak of in France. Most of the trained spies were communist sympathizers and the new amateurs were not up to the task yet. Basically the Resistance had to start from scratch and this meant that the high flying reconnaissance planes could see only so much. These are the same planes that failed to discover the buildup before the Battle of the Bulge.

The Soviets would send up a few Wasserfal missiles that would cause the high flying recon planes to change course and interrupt their shot tracks and their images. Even a Spitfire has to turn slow and easy at over 40,000 feet and a number of Spits and Mosquito recon planes panicked and turn a little too fast and stalled spinning tens of thousands of feet before they gained control and some never did. Dropping 10,000 feet in a flat spin makes you pretty vulnerable to a high flying Yak 9PD and a number where shot down that way. All in all the raids and their effects were not very fruitful and every British plane shot down over France was one more lost for the upcoming battle over Britain. For the damage done it was not a good exchange and the RAF leadership realized this after about two weeks.

So here we are. The Sitzkrieg once more. The calm before the storm. The spasm before the bile rises. Rises from deep down in the gut and up through the throat to full regurgitation.

Training at high altitude

Chapter Nine:

The Plan

Soviet VVS Lend Lease B-25J

* * *

This from the diary of an unknown bomber pilot in the VVS

* * *

My Name is of No Importance

We had just got back from deep inside the Ukraine. Our mission had been very secret. We had tested the jamming capabilities of the American electronics that had been provided for us to install in our Lend Lease B25J bombers.[11] For the first time we flew the jamming device turned on and it worked! They shot actual shells at us. 3.7” British made shells with the magic VT Proximity fuse attached. Needless to say before the first test we were very nervous despite the assurances of the scientists in their white coats and even after a speech by Novikov himself we were very skeptical to say the least. It worked, it really worked.

The magic shells were actually worse than a regular 3.7” shell because the jammer send out a signal that made them detonate far below us… a full thousand feet below us. It was very funny to see the crew jeer and shout insults at the gunners below. Now the strange semi dome formations made sense. Now the emphasis on the other planes staying as close as possible to us became clear. Now we knew our true mission. Now we were heartened at the prospects of our survival and the bombers that surrounded us. The months of practice would soon be demonstrated for all to see. Not for some parade but for a practical reason, a very lifesaving reason.

We were cautioned that we would have a very limited opportunity to use our jammers to their greatest extent. The RAF was sure to change their tactics and even the use of conventional fuses would spell the doom of many of our comrades. The first week of the Battle would be critical and the focus of our efforts were to be the 3.7” heavy AA guns and their crews. These guns were the only ones who could stop the first waves of TU2s Bats from completing their mission. We were to ignore enemy fighters or bombers and concentrate on finding and drawing out into combat the heavy AA guns that used the VT proximity fuse. These were our enemy and we had to make them show their positions so the IL10 Beasts and other forms of ground attack units could destroy them.

Only the heavy AA guns were radar controlled and could see in the night and clouds. Only the 3.7 AA ammo was equipped with the VT proximity fuse. Our mission was to draw them out to make them give up their positions to the waves of explosives and fire that would seek them out. Death from above meted out by our ground attack brothers and sisters to those who would end our existence. The initial waves of Tu2S Bats that would be surrounding us had their own mission, but I will let them tell their story for themselves.

Mission for Bats

The NATO designation for the Soviet Tu2S medium bomber is Bat. This plane was first sent into combat in 1943 is considered by many to be one of, if not the best, medium bomber of WWII. It saved Andrei Tupolev from prison with its brilliant design. Not even Stalin could ignore its genius. It was almost as fast as some of the front-line fighters of its day and could carry up to 8,000 lbs for over a thousand miles

This was the equal to the normal load and range of the B-17 heavy bomber which carried 7,000 lbs for a range of 800 miles.[12] Now the Flying Fortress could be called upon to carry up to 17,600 lbs and could fly 2000 miles with 4500 lbs and had much more defensive armament thus the designation heavy bomber. The Tu2S Bat relied on being faster and being more maneuverable. It was used as a heavy fighter and did attack other bombers with its 2 forward firing 20 mm cannons.

The initial mission for the Bats in the Second Battle of Britain was to lay down a smoke screen from on high. They had two models of smoke bombs that they were going to be using. One was based on the US E44 Smoke Bomb Cluster and other the German N C 50 Smoke Bomb. Now in today’s vernacular a smoke bomb does not sound very dangerous. These bombs will prove to be very dangerous to the light anti-aircraft guns all over Britain.

Some of the bombs would produce vision blocking smoke for up to 20 minutes. Special IL10 Beast units were being trained to lay down “touch up” smoke screens as well. Smoke screens were used rather sparingly on the Eastern Front, but they were in fact used, and the IL2 Sturmovik came in quite handy in laying them down. Almost impervious to small arms fire and even heavy machine guns they actually cruised at low altitude between the enemy and their forces and put down smoke screens that blinded the enemy to the axis of attack. It worked quite well at times.

The main job of blinding the Bofors 40mm guns, the 20mm guns and heavy machine guns fell to the Bats and their smoke bombs. Once the smaller AA guns were blind other Bats and Beasts will be called upon to finish the job. At low level the 3.7” radar directed gun is not a threat to fast moving planes flying at under 100 feet spewing liquid flames and cluster bombs. The Sturmovik “Circle of Death”[13] will make itself known over 10, 11 and 12 Group.

* * *

This comes to us from the Soviet propaganda machine after the Second Battle of Britain. It is surprisingly accurate, which is unusual considering the source.

* * *

Practice Makes Perfect

Since the end of the last war the Soviet VVS had been on a training mission. Every pilot, gunner, mechanic and armorer had been put back into specific training programs designed after the US and RAF flight training schools. Many of the instructors had been trained in the US and Britain as an exchange program since 1944. They learned the techniques used by their former allies and now they had brought them back home to the motherland. Gunnery school for the gunners and fighter pilots had increased their hit ratios dramatically. Much like Richard Bong the Yankee’s highest scoring ace the Red pilots had improved their aerial shooting skills by leaps and bounds. Bong had admitted that he was a lousy shot as he racked up 28 kills to surpass Rickenbacker to become America’s Ace of Aces. He used to say that he would stick his guns into the enemy’s cockpit and pull the trigger he was such a bad shot. When he rotated back to the states for some R&R he went through gunnery school. We he got back to shooting down Japs he no longer had to put himself at risk. The combination of his improved shooting skills and his unsurpassed piloting abilities garnered him another 13 kills to end up with 40 total before he was shipped home to die in an YP80 jet fighter crash as a test pilot. His death was a huge tragedy for the nation yet he was not given his due because the day he died was the day they dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. The headline that should have been displayed in page filling type was lost amid the exuberance of Japanese mass destruction.

The Soviet pilots improved in all categories from flying in formation for the bombers to how to counter the speed and height superiority of some RAF and USAAF planes. Using the captured and Lend Lease planes they learned what maneuvers and counter maneuvers were needed to negate an enemy attack slashing in from a high altitude into your formations at a high rate of speed. It was surprisingly easy for a practiced pilot to counter this kind of Boom and Zoom attack and practiced they became. Time it right and you just turn into the enemies attack from above and he would either have to drastically alter his speed or over shoot you. If he was arrogant he would try and turn inside of you and this is when he would die. No one outturns a Yak3 and no Mustang outturns a Yak9 or La7. Plus at 5 to one odds if you slow down to try and get into a turning fight you will lose. The Red pilots were taught how to counter and defeat the Mustang and the Spitfire.

The bomber pilots and their gunners were schooled as well. Being already skilled flyers they learned a new set of tactics and maneuvers that they hoped would stead them well. At middle and low altitude the Mustang and Spitfire were very beatable and the new tactics and lessons learned from the US and RAF instructors themselves would save many a bomber crew’s life.

The Tu2S was far from helpless, losing only 71 in combat out of the original 2000 since 1943. 3 rear and side firing .23mm cannons and 2 front firing meant a warm welcome for any fighter that strays before the planes sights. It was a tough, fast flying machine not seen by the US and RAF in combat. Some very surprised NATO pilots were sure to fall before the guns of the Tu2S Bat. Their numbers now stood at close to 3500 and growing. Both pilots and machines were pouring out of the improved training schools and factories in numbers second only to the Yankees in 1944. They themselves had produced 40,000 planes in 1944 and were on pace to produce 60,000 this year.

Meanwhile the NATO nations had not only cut back on production of new planes but had curtailed pilot training and destroyed thousands of late war planes that will be sorely missed. The British has gone so far as to simply dump planes into the ocean. Thousands were just left to rot throughout the world. Left were they ended their last mission. They were left to decay into an ignominious pile of aluminum and rubber. The planes that had swept the skies of the Axis powers were considered useless and shoved down mine shafts or dumped into the Irish Sea.

We were flying an interesting but not very glorious mission in our practice raids. When signaled in by our controllers we would fly along a route calculated to cover gaps in a smoke screen. These kind of gap filling missions were considered very dangerous but we had done them before. We had flown a number of smoke screen missions against the Germans with great success. We knew we could do it but it was still a very freighting mission fraught with danger. They all knew about the proximity fuse of NATO and had even seen demonstrations of it from captured supplies. It was not a threat to their low flying IL10s however. The British only used the fuse in their 3.7” AA gun which was a long range gun and not used for low altitude.

The fuse couldn’t even get itself armed. The machine guns and even the 20mm were not that much of a threat. A well-aimed 20 mm could bring you down but it was not likely. The only real threat to the Beast was the Bofors 40 mm gun. They had to really respect this weapons system. Luckily they were not controlled by radar and even if they were the IL10 flew too low on most missions. Direct line of sight was needed by the Bofors and that line of sight was what their mission was all about.

* * *

Perhaps you are wondering how we have come to collect all these recordings and even films of these clandestine meetings. It seems that Stalin and many others had hidden cameras and audio recorders in many of their offices. You may also wonder why they would keep the films and recordings when they show such utter contempt for human life and even admit torture and injustice on a scale never seen before in human history.

Could they be actually proud of their monstrous dealings that have regulated millions to death and torture? Could they have kept them as kind of a trophy like the serial killers they were? One can only speculate.

The fact is that they did and we have gone to great lengths to acquire them, preserve them, and to record their essence in these books so that humanity will always remember their atrocities.

* * *

Smell of Decay

The room smelled like sickness… human sickness, old man sickness. The light was low and the feeling of sleepiness hung over the whole room and its tableau of shadows. He knew Stalin was in the room for he had been summarily summoned. You did not ignore a summons from Stalin and live to talk about it so it was strange that the room seemed empty. Stalin hated to be alone especially at this time of the day. Even Sergo sensed that something was wrong with the whole situation. Then he heard a slight noise like some well-oiled door being slid open and out from what was a blank wall came the familiar large nose, pocked marked face and mustache gradually appeared and was followed by the short frame of possibly the greatest mass murdered since Genghis Khan.

Sergo could not see what was behind the panel that had opened but from the smell he guessed it was a private water closet for Stalin. Stalin looked a little startled when he realized Sergo was there in the room and Sergo briefly wondered if the guard and secretary out front were going to lose their lives for letting him in before they ascertained just where in the room and what the status of “Uncle Joe” was. Silly name for such a dangerous man but then again the Americans were a silly people.

Stalin spoke. Sergo couldn’t see Stalin’s face and it was beyond his capabilities to determine from just tone of voice what kind of mood he was in or if the question that had been asked, had been a serious one or one of Stalin’s “jokes”. Sergo didn’t understand jokes or humor or irony so he used to just laugh when those around him laughed. He had come to realize by the time he was 7, that most of the jokes and the laugher was directed at him. If Sergo was a normal human being he might have sought out some of his tormentors and demanded justice for the decades of slights. But he wasn’t a normal human being. He wasn’t exactly a sociopath and not anti-social but almost incapable of reading other peoples physical and verbal clues. As any psychologists will tell you, non-verbal communication and voice inflection are 90% of communication. So he was dreadfully handicapped in this area. Stalin recognized this from their very first encounter and this was the reason Sergo was still alive and still advising him.

He finally figured out that Stalin had asked him a real question without any hidden agendas and truly wanted to know what Sergo’s thoughts were on the subject. The question was retrieved from where his brain had temporarily stored it and when he finally comprehended what Stalin had asked was a serious question, he answered.

“Comrade I would say that our concentrating on the defense of the skies above the motherland was indeed the correct decision. How else were the Americans and English going to attack us? Their armies, even at their height, could not hope to do what the mighty Wehrmacht could not do. And now that they were almost pushed off the continent how could their armies be anywhere near the threat that their air forces were? I am no Marshal or even General but even I know enough about land warfare to know that to invade once again from Britain and then to fight continuously for 2500 kilometers to even reach Moscow, would be a feat none have readily accomplished successfully.

After all comrade, the army is not atrophied or even been starved of resources. They continue to function quite well and are within weeks of conquering Spain. With the Royal Air Force on its knees there would seem to be no readily apparent way the capitalists can successfully attack us but from the air. Hence the decision to concentrate our scientific and manufacturing efforts on the skies would seem to me to be most warranted and wise.

Later after the British succumb to the inevitable, I suggest we concentrate on possibly becoming a naval power. For now keeping our skies clear of B29s and atomic bombs is victory enough and that was only made possible by you having the foresight to listen with an open mind to the logical ideas I presented. I also give Beria absolute credit for the brilliant espionage work he has accomplished over the years. His spies have been enormously critical to our plans.”

Stalin slid over to the well-padded office chair and virtually fell into it. It took him a minute for him to start to speak.

“Don’t you worry about Beria… he will get what he deserves fairly soon. I have to say I agree with your assertions Sergo. The so called NATO forces would commit virtual suicide if they tried to re-conquer our newly acquired Western lands with the same army they conquered Germany. They could not live with the casualties that the Nazis and we sustained over the years. Not even the British had such casualty rates as we had, fighting literally tooth and nail for every inch. The American public is weak and would not stand for the kind of mass slaughter it would take to even re-conquer the new Socialist Republics in the West. Like the French Vichy their new governments and leaders have a vested interest in not going back to the old ways of capitalistic exploitation. No, land warfare is not the way they are going to try attack the new Republics. Since we are self-sufficient in oil and minerals their navy cannot cut off our supplies.

I enjoy our little talks Sergo. I do grow more and more weary of the bickering and in-fighting amongst the politburo. It use to delight me to see them squabble for hours and then to jump when I spoke, but it does not hold the same fascination and delight for me it used to. I made Malenkov urinate in his pants once, he was so afraid… and with good reason I might add. Why do I tell you this Sergo? I’ll tell you why, because you have no political skills, you do not think like the others and that Sergo is why I tell you these things and why I can confide in you knowing full well you have no idea what to do with such information, nor do you care. Is that not right my robot? Have you heard the term robot before Sergo in reference to yourself?”

“No Excellency. I am familiar with the origin and the play by Capek. I read it when I was younger and we were allowed such activities. So I am familiar with the term but I have not experienced anyone referencing me as an automaton. I do have emotions Excellency I just don’t know how to express them properly so I just avoid the situations. Fortunately for me you have given me an outlet for my… creativity. Although I would prefer to be designing planes that can transport people instead of bombs and be designing great landing fields and all the infrastructure that would be needed to fly hundreds of thousands of people a day to places all over the world I realize that I must concentrate on stopping the Americans and British from delivering their bombs. Later perhaps you will allow me to build my transportation system using the sky when we are through with this unpleasantness, Excellency?”

“Yes Sergo you shall have the chance to create your roadways in the sky. Imagine a peasant from Gori traveling by plane to all parts of the world. Thanks partly to you Sergo someday I might just give such a trip a try. I understand you have never flown either, yet you dream of putting hundreds of thousands of others at risk. You must have your reasons, and it is not worth my time to find them out. I am getting weary Sergo… leave!”

“Yes… of course Excellency.”

“I do enjoy your way of relating to the world around you Sergo… no groveling or bragging, just the facts and logical conclusions. You just focus on what we need to accomplish and leave the politics to others. Very enjoyable and refreshing for me to be able to interact with such a… robot.”

“Am I supposed to react or comment Excellency?”

“No Sergo. That would foul our association and that is the last thing you would want to happen, and quite frankly I would not care for such an outcome as well.”

“Yes your Excellency… should I leave now?”

“Yes Sergo… now you should leave.”

Sergo turned and slowly walked to the exit. He had no idea if the interview went well or not. He had no idea if he would live through the day. Such was life under Stalin. He had seen a number of people happily leave Stalin’s company only to disappear never to be seen again. He guessed it was one of Stalin’s ploys to terrorize everyone around him. He understood that fear was a great motivator. He preferred logic but then again he was incapable of deceit and that meant that he could not instill fear without actually killing everyone around him. He could not “play act” that he was going to kill someone only to instill fear in others. He would have to actually kill someone like he threatened and that was a waste. He could not bluff so therefore he did not threaten. He acted if the situation warranted it and the odds were favorable to survival. All in all he avoided these type of situations and just did his job.

Why couldn’t others be like him? It would be such a better world all the way around. You worked at something you enjoyed and that was reward enough. He could see it even on the factory floor. Some of the prison laborers actually took pride in their work. Even though they were helping to keep themselves slaves they went out of their way to do an excellent job and for what? They almost never got any kind of reward just the self-satisfaction that they had done a better job than anyone else. Vitaly Ginzburg was a perfect example. He enjoyed matching wits with Vitaly yet Stalin was going to have him put in the gulag for imagined crimes. He now worked happily beside him just for the sake of pure science. He did not wallow in pity he just did his job and seemed to enjoy himself. His colleague Semyon Kosberg was scheduled for torture by Beria himself for some slight at a party function. What a waste that would have been. He now is instrumental in bringing the newest jet engine to be matched with MiG’s newest creation. A truly stunning plane but worthless without the innovations they garnered from the American jet engines found in France and that American William Pearl working alongside Semyon have done wonders with the jet engine program. The captured jet engines were just wonderful creations and thankfully relatively easy to recreate with the likes of Pearl, Semyon and Vitaly on the job.

The greatest crime to Sergo was waste, especially the wasting of a great mind. He had saved many great minds since 1943. Many who would have been used for suicide missions or as common infantry and wasted to the bullet. What would history have been if such minds had not been saved and put to good use? He thought that America knew this and gave certain kinds of individuals the freedom to excel, men like Boeing or a Ford. He had heard that Ford failed many times before succeeding. Imagine if they ever let their Negroes go to proper schools. How many Gurevichs or Ilyusions were dying of starvation in Africa at this moment? He was convinced that skin color had no part in greatness. Much of it was luck. Just like his story. Who would have thought that being singled out a one of Stalin’s horrid “parties” would end with him being in control of so many resources and a confidant of Stalin? Allowed to work on such projects as the Wasserfal and X4 missile. Inventions of the greatest minds in Germany almost abandoned and then resurrected too late to be of use to the Nazis. Luckily he was allowed to take them to fruition. They were pressuring him to design missiles to attack ships as well as planes. Very easy to do actually, but he was very uneasy at the thought of an unexploded warhead falling into the sea and being recovered by the West. Until they designed another guidance system the current one would be rather easy to defeat. No he had to keep the admirals from using their greatest deterrent to the atomic bomb in such a reckless manner.

They were approaching production of 100 a month and by next month 300. By spring they would be producing 600 a month. Combined with the new MiG, a shield would drop over Eurasia by the end of the Summer of 1947.

The X4 equiped Pe 9s were rolling off the production lines as well. The ubiquitous Tu2s had been pressed into service as and could carry four X4 plane to plane missiles. They could only fire one at a time without the extra missile drivers that the Pe 9 could provide but they were faster and could get to the area of need quicker as well as survive better once attacked. They also lacked the high altitude capabilities of the Pe 9 as well. Some of the variants were very promising however. We now had 40 Tu-10s which were a modified Tu-2. This was a four-crew aircraft fitted with inline Mikulin AM-39FNVs of 1850hp. At 8600m it attained a speed of 641km/h. Ceiling was 10,450m but range fell to 1,740km. This plane fitted with the X4 had the speed and the altitude to catch and launch its missiles into any bomber stream that NATO could initiate.

The heavy bomber would be a thing of the past and missiles would ascend to take their place, guided missiles with massive warheads that could reach across continents. He was sure the Americans, with their captured Germans, would be working towards that same goal. In fact thanks to Beria he was sure of it and had many of their plans already. Possibly some kind of stalemate would ensue. Where neither side would attack the other for fear of massive retaliation. Knowing that there are plenty of men like Stalin he didn’t doubt that they would find other ways to fight. Such is the nature of man, at least in his life time.

* * *

Oral history from an Iowa farm boy and his experience with race relations in the lead up to World War Three.

* * *

Negros

Just read this order from the area commander about letting Negros fight. I’ve seen them loading and unloading, driving and repairing things even heard of a few units of them fighting under white officers. It says that they are going to be placed in units regardless of race. I personally don’t have a problem with this but it will be hard for some of our Southern boys to get used to I imagine. Being from a small town in Iowa I never even saw a Negro until I went to Chicago with my dad when I was about 7. Wonderful trip going to the museums and even went up one of the sky scrapers.

Negros were all over the place there and they seemed really nice. Dad got along well with them so I paid no never mind to their differences in looks once I got over the novelty which at that age took about 15 minutes. Seems that Dad had business dealings with a Negro named Bill. I didn’t know his last name until I met his family and at age 7 I didn’t care. He had a daughter who was about age 6 and a son age 8. We had a great old time playing when we stayed overnight at their home.

The mom was a wonderful cook and we had the best food I can ever remember. I don’t remember what it was but I know I ate a lot of it. Then Billy Jr., Isabel and I would go to the near-by park and play the day away. Billy Jr. was rather non-athletic to say the least. He had very thick glasses and just didn’t seem to move right. Isabel on the other hand kept right up with me as we ran and played on the jungle gym and swings. It was a great time and I was sad to leave after a few days. I still remember the huge hug Mamma Wilkins gave me. I was in heaven smelling all the good food on her clothes and felt so loved and safe. My mom never hugged me and always smelled of bleach.

I sure hated to leave. I never visited them again. I guess the timing was not right. Billy and Isabel did write me and I respond until this day. I still have all their letters and re-read them sometimes. We talk about everything. Billy and Isabel were as different as day and night. Billy liked to discuss science and math and Isabel was all about sports. She still is. Neither of them has married or talks about any special friends. She knew all the players of the Cubs and some Negro team that her dad would take her to watch, they still go to this day. Billy didn’t go with them and I don’t think even knew how many bases or what a baseball diamond was.

In fact they are my most faithful correspondence as I went through boot camp and have been shipped out. Isabel writes almost daily and Billy about once a week. I’m lucky to get a letter a month from home. Mamma Wilkins sends the most fantastic food and some in my unit ask me every day if more is coming. About a dozen of the Southern boys won’t have anything to do with Mamma Wilkins gifts, even though they probably had Negro cooks at home. I just don’t understand their way of thinking. I just something that I don’t think they will ever be overcome.

We got our first two Negro replacements yesterday. They seem like real nice fellows and I know I’m going to get on well with them. The Southern dozen (I call them) won’t even shower or go to the same bathroom with Sam and Jacob. All shit smells the same to me. Sam is very smart but pretend he isn’t. He confided in me that many Negros men are taught from very early on by their mothers not to stand out or draw attention to themselves. Apparently there is a history of smart, talented Negro men being lynched by angry mobs of white trash. I don’t know if this is true or not but it is a reality as far as Sam and Jacob are concerned so they play dumb a lot even though they are very capable men. It sounds like a horrible thing to teach your children. Imagine having to hide your talents and having to live in the shadows.

I asked Billy and Isabel in my last letter if this was what they had been taught and both answered yes. That Mamma Wilkins had warned Billy many a time not to be too “uppity” and to hide his talents in science and math. He studies at home but does not “show off” in school. He’s hoping to get into one of the all Negro colleges and then he can let his mind loose and really show what he is capable of but in the mean-time he has to hide in the shadows in public school just getting good enough grades to be the smartest Negro but not the smarter than most of the white kids.

Isabel luckily doesn’t have to do the same with her athletic abilities. Her heroes are Tuskegee University sisters Margaret “Pete” Peters and Matilda Romania “Repeat” Peters and she wants to go to Tuskegee as well. These two Negro female tennis players are trail blazers for not only Negro women but for all women. She has it easier than Billy because of Pete and Repeat Peters. These two have made it acceptable for Negro women to compete on a national stage. The Brown Bomber, Joe Lewis has done kind of the same thing for Negro men athletes and this Willy Mayes might be what we need in baseball but we still need a lot of work for Negro men in most fields of work. We need more George Washington Carvers before Billy can really show his intellect outside of a Negro college. Who knows maybe Billy will be the next Carver. He certainly is smart enough.

I’m not saying all Negros are angels mind you. Hell that Snookie asshole in B Company is the sneakiest guy I know. I’m sure he has stolen some jewelry and was put in the stockade for sneaking off during guard duty. I’m surprise he wasn’t shot. So it don’t matter the color of your skin it just a combination of who your parents are, where you grew up and some inner voice that some call your conscience etc.

Look at those Tuskegee Airmen and what they accomplished. Old Snookie would be in trouble in that outfit. They would not put up with any of his crap. I heard they was in Spain flying against the Reds. Mighty fine pilots they tell me. Just shows what can happen when you give the right man or I suppose a women the right chance at the right time. Who knows maybe the Pete and Repeat sisters could be the first girl fighter pilots. I heard the Soviets had some. Efficient use of talent if you ask me but then again they never seem to ask me.

That reminds me of that horrible race riot in February in Columbia, TN. We had been horrified at all the violence. A true case of a racist bigot thinking a Negro was uppity. Imagine the nerve of a returning vet complaining that you had been cheated. Cheated because he was charged for a repair that was not done. That deserves a lynching in some men’s minds I guess. That Negro was a former veteran from the Navy who had just come back risking his life for his country and some white asshole thinks he doesn’t deserve the respect he earned. Then things get out of hand and the police trash the Negro neighborhood and arrest 100 men. Two die in custody supposedly shot while trying to grab a gun while handcuffed.

I think we have another 20 years at least before something really happens to improve the situation. Maybe this war will do it. I heard the Reds have a movie where a white American woman is run out of town when she has a Negro child and is almost killed by a mob but escapes and becomes a star in the circus in Russia. At the end of the movie the various peoples of the Soviet Empire sings the child to sleep in their different languages. An obvious attempt to divide us with propaganda but still compelling if true. I wonder if communism is appealing to Negros? I don’t think so but who could blame them.

Boy how the mind wonders when you’re on guard duty. Wonder when those flyboys are going to start bombing again. All these B29s sitting around here out in the desert and were supposed to guard them. Heard that some had atomic bombs in them. That should put a dent in Old Joes steel curtain, lots of accidents and engine failures. Sand and those big old engines just don’t mix I guess. From what I hear those engines have always been trouble and have killed more crews than the Japanese by conking out to and from the target. Hope they figure it out soon. I hate this place.

Tuskegee Airmen

Chapter Ten:

Tales of Men

Stalin’s Dart production facility in the Urals

* * *

Pretty amazing that a man like Beria would keep a diary. This from a series of entries and a few tape recordings

* * *

Cold and Dark

Beria’s office is a cold, dark space. Just like the man’s soul. There are no trophies in the room, no pictures. Nothing to indicate that a living, breathing human being occupies the office. It is functional as it is barren. The chair behind his desk is the same kind he uses to tie victims to when he tortures them. It is sturdy beyond belief. No one has even come close to breaking one of those chairs no matter how much pain and agony they are subjected to, the chair always wins.

The chairs are constructed by a man from Beria’s own village. The man is over seventy years old and does not have an apprentice. It really doesn’t matter as there are six dozen new chairs in a warehouse waiting to be used. They’ll be in that warehouse until the Soviet Union ends because they never break. And even Beria has enough for his current use.

There’s an old brass lamp with a green tinted glass eye shade sitting on his desk. Curtains are open enough behind him and opened to hide his face from anyone who enters the room. The windows are tinted and bulletproof just in case. He has literally a million enemies but only one really concerns him. One Josef Stalin.

He’s engrossed in one of the many thousands of lists that cross his desk every week. List of names… an endless list of names. Many others have the power to put those names on the list but only Sergo, he and Stalin have the power to remove names from those lists. It is an endless task which he enjoys immensely, deciding who lives and who dies, who is tortured and who will be sent to prison. The only other person who enjoys it as much as he does is Stalin himself. Sergo seems to not care one way of the other unless the name is of value to his projects. Then he is like a man possessed.

This was the case when Tupolev was once again sent to the gulag. Sergo went into Stalin’s office and demanded that Tupolev be assigned to his projects. Not only did Stalin change his mind but Sergo is still alive and so is Tupolev. Both the US and British jet engines and parts fell into Beria’s hands the first few weeks of the war. Combined with the information coming from inside the US and UK research teams a truly functional jet engine is 6 months away if not sooner. In the meantime 20 of the UK engines and 30 of the US are being stuffed into the Yak 15 and the MiG 9. That should come as a surprise for the RAF. They will be expecting the German Jumos and instead will be getting a far more capable opponent powered by their own engines.

He’s was just thinking about how to steal some credit from Sergo when there is a knock on the door. He grunts and in walks tall young man. The man is almost the exact opposite of Beria. He’s tall and the full head of hair make him look like he should be on a recruiting poster for the red Army. In truth he enjoys torturing people almost as much as Beria himself. His youthful stamina and strength have combined to kill too many of his victims before the desired effect but he will learn. Beria is a very good teacher.

There is great value in allowing torture victims to go back into the general population. It serves many functions but the best one is to terrorize anyone else who may or may not be guilty. It’s a wonderful deterrent to any reactionary thinking. I would not be surprised if dictators in the future did not use it to gain control of their populations.

“Your Excellency we have received disturbing news from the Mideast. There are rumors of large numbers of aircraft arriving from the West. We have lost contact with a few agents we had in Egypt.”

“I seem to remember reports from that clown, that drunk in Sevastopol. Complaining how his planes were being sent west. He had a theory that the US might use the Mideast as a staging area for strikes against our oilfields in the Caucasus. In contrast our agents in the United States say that the United States workers are on strike and the rearming of the American bombing force is taking much longer than expected. This agent is highly placed and has always given us exact information in the past.”

“Perhaps we should get Novikov on the phone and see what kind of information he has.”

“He will not be of much use is totally consumed with the upcoming battle over the skies of Britain. In fact he is stripped much of the aircraft from the Mideast and plans to use them in his onslaught of the British Isles. He will not be happy to hear this news on the eve of his attack. It is better that hears it from you than from Stalin himself. Novikov is one of the few who seems to know his job.”

“Very well your Excellency I will see it is done.”

As the aide leaves the room so is any thought of aiding Novikov. Baria’s thoughts turned to how he can turn this to his own advantage. On the one hand he could be blamed for this failure of intelligence. On the other it is Novikov who has stripped the defenses around the Caucasus.

No there is no way around it. He will be blamed in the end so it is time to rectify the situation. The earliest date his agents have estimated that the Americans can be ready for any kind of bombing campaign is the middle of November. Novikov will have until the end of October, at the latest the second week in November, to sweep the skies clean over the British Isles. Then he must get his equipment back to the real prize. The one that the Soviet Union cannot live without. The oil.

The new missile batteries must be in place sooner. Perhaps he should strip the ones from the Channel and send them East. We now have over 300 missiles and Sergo is producing 200 a month now. Still they are only a stop gap weapon and more of a psychological weapon than a practical one. They will be easily defeated if the Capitalists find out how they work. The X4 air to air missile was progressing well too. Combined with the Pe9 it was a wonderfully mobile weapons system against the level bomber.

In the meantime you must rebuild his intelligence assets throughout the Mideast. He has neglected that area for far too long in the time will come when the invasion of Turkey and Saudi Arabia will become a reality. The NATO allies must be deprived of the Suez Canal in the oilfields in the area. The Mediterranean Sea will no longer be the playground of the NATO fleets. It will become a Soviets lake just like the Black and the Baltic Sea. The quest for a warm water port will be over once and for all.

Georgie and Sergo

Georgie received the usual memo passed through the slot and ran to do the bidding of his unseen master

He marveled that this fellow Sergo had ability to place the exact right person in the exact right job. He had heard that he didn’t know people’s names but just looked at the tests he had designed and each of the 50,000 workers was just a number, just another cog to be placed into the machine of the Soviet aerospace effort. He looked at the test results and then categorized each worker/slave and put them in those file drawers of his, according to some system he had in his head.

They had tried to get him help with some kind of assistant to help him with his job or just something to ease his burdens as well as to spy on him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. They even tried getting him one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen to be his assistant and when he rejected her they got him a handsome young man who liked other men, but that didn’t work either.

Since late in 1943 Sergo’s operation has been right behind the German, US and British research and development efforts in four main areas, jet engines, rockets, heavy bombers and high octane gas. He saw early the need for each of these particular elements. Along the way he had to find people to delve into metallurgy, organic chemistry, physics etc. He personally knew nothing about any of these scientific disciplines but his tests had identified hundreds of prodigies in each of these disciplines and dozens more. When he needed an organic chemist to work on cracking oil and producing high octane gas, he pulled his files and found the right one for the job. He was even allowing some of the foremost minds still alive after the purges, to teach promising prisoners.

Sergo started parallel programs to the German, British and United States efforts. As Beria’s intelligence machine fed in new data and documents Sergo’s operation used it to full advantage. Great strides were accomplished in the development in what were basically copies of the German, British and even American jet engines. Georgie had heard that Beria had a spy, William Mutterperl, who was on the design team of the Yankees P80 jet fighter. As a consequence of these efforts in replicating his former allies and enemies work the Soviet war machine was from 3 to 4 months behind in these critical areas. In a few areas they were ahead because of Sergo’s emphasis and insistence. The ground to air missile system was such an example. Georgie was responsible for seeing that his unseen master’s wishes came to fruition and he was very good at it.

Right now high octane gas was being produced to keep the VVS fighters competitive with NATOs aircraft. The first month of the war they had to use hoarded stocks of Lend Lease fuel but now their own production had come on line. It’s interesting to note that Russians have been leaders in organic chemistry since the 1890s when Vladimir Shukhov[14] first “cracked” oil.

A former student of Shukohov had defected to the US in 1930 but the secrets he took with him came from the USSR. The defector named Vladimir Ipatieff[15] was given credit for finding an economical way to create high octane gas in 1930 for the capitalist war mongers, yet he was educated in the Soviet Union and much of his research remained behind when he defected. That research was put to good use and little Anna Mezhlumova[16] reproduced his process. Now high octane gas was being stockpiled for future use.

Another example would be when the MiG Design Bureau became aware of the German Ta 183 project in 1944 they emulated the parallel process Sergo pioneered for copying and improving others designs. They started work on what would become the MiG 15. This ground breaking jet fighter could be operational in May, 1947. A frightening thought for the US bombing effort.

The jet engine that would be paired with MiG 15 was itself a product of this parallel process along with the Wasserfal missile and its guidance system. These were incredible feats of intellectual theft but all is fair in love and war and this was definitely not love.

Sergo had tried to convince Stalin that the B29 program should be emulated as well but he was not convinced. The resources were not there for all of these projects and defensive weapons systems took precedence over offensive systems such as the atomic bomb and the B29. For now Stalin’s emphasis was on keeping what he had gained and using the resources of Western Europe to rebuild the motherland. Time and time again it was the motherland and its peoples who paid for the actions of the West. This time it would be different.

Georgie was a big part of this undertaking. Georgie was something of a prodigy in his own right. He was a fixer and could scrounge for anything and strong armed anyone to get the job done and more importantly to get the job done right.

Beria produced the secrets. Sergo produced the vision, ideas, qualified people and the process. Georgie produced results. Together they made a very strange but effective cabal, a cabal that Joseph Stalin seemed to be comfortable with… for the moment.

Early Soviet analog calculating machine

Chapter Eleven:

Personal Stories

Desmans: a curious mammal only found in the Caucasus and Pyrenees mountains

* * *

This is from an oral history given by the Spotter of this sniper on the Pyrenees Line. They had many a night to discuss this episode and the eventual outcome.

He was with his lifelong friend until the end.

* * *

Desmans[17]

The little creature stood on its hind legs and sniffed the air. Since it was for all practical purposes blind this was one of the ways it could tell which direction food or sex was. This of course was all it cared about. Unlike the humans that had invaded its’ creek bed.

Humans actually killed each other over ideas. Our little creature had no ideas so it only fought for sexual advancement and sometimes over territorial needs. Basic survival. Human leaders were able to convince their people and to make them believe that their very survival was in danger, even from people thousands of miles away. Then when in a combat situation far from home your very survival and that of your friends, was indeed in danger. So you fought the other human beings. Human beings who would probably be very kind to you in other circumstances. Other human beings who just wanted to plant a garden and to raise their families. Unfortunately for millions of other people and billions of other living creatures a few humans have the ability to convince themselves and then others that their ideas were worth fighting and dying for. Not them mind you, no they never seemed to go off to war, but others… always others.

The leaders of the humans were very good at making the soldiers believe that others wanted to take their wife or home when in fact the vast majority of your supposed enemies did not. Humans have imaginations that can be filled with fear but not so our little creature.

Yeorgi made up for his bad eye by having excellent hearing. Besides you only needed one good eye to be a good shot and Yeorgi was that. He was the best sniper in the 363rd and had 27 kills so far in these cursed mountains. What caught his attention was a sound he hadn’t heard since he was 11 in the Caucuses where he stayed with his grandparents for 3 summers from ages 8 to 11. Those were good times.

The sound he heard was kind of a cross between a violin and a hand drill going through wood. The only thing that made that sound that he knew of was a desman. How could this be? This furry creature was almost blind. It was basically a swimming mole complete with long snout large clawed paws for digging and swimming and in the desman’s case a long scaly tail that aided greatly in swimming like a muskrat. Desmans are rare in Russia. So rare that the government has banned their killing since the 1920s. But that sound was definitely a desman. There can be no other animal that sounds the same.

He had to find out. The sound obviously came from the creek to the southwest. First I’ll look with my scope he thought. Inch by inch he scoured the shoreline from his vantage point. There were many parts he could not see of course. No desman from this site. He signaled his spotter that he had to take a leak. Parts of the creek were in plain sight of the enemy snipers so he had to be careful but he had to find out of that noise was a desman. Imagine far from home and to hear that sound from his childhood. He used to watch the silly creatures for hours as they swam and dove for grubs and worms. Basically sightless yet able to function quite well using their whiskers and nose. Could they really be here in these mountains they call the Pyrenees. Two places on earth the Caucuses and the Pyrenees so far apart yet so similar.

The other day a member of the command staff encountered a bear and was severely wounded when the animal charged. Imagine coming all the way to Spain to die by bear claws. Come to think of it he better be careful to not die trying to find a swimming mole of all things. There is was again. He heard the distinctive sound near that mound of sticks. Time for patience and observation. This is not the time and place to go sticking your head up trying to find a childhood memory.

Oh shit here comes my spotter looking for me.

“What are you doing comrade? There are Spaniards to kill. You look too happy for war. What have you found?

“Nothing yet but heard a sound I haven’t heard since I was a boy in the Caucuses. The only creature that I know that makes that sound is a desman. They are rare back home and I can’t imagine them being found here as well.”

“What do they look like?”

“They look like a big mole that can swim.”

“You mean they are blind?”

“Yes.”

“I would like to see this.”

“We’d better get back. The Maior will shoot us for looking for a swimming mole.”

“Perhaps he would be curious as well.”

“I am not going to find out… wait… there… see by the dead bush. Yes there it is. It’s a desman! I can’t believe it!”

“I see it too… it’s pretty ugly. See how it rears up to sniff the air. How does it survive? It appears to have no eyes at all from here.”

“They usually come out at night but I suppose all the explosions and strange smells have confused them.”

“Oh shit here’s the Maior… pretend you putting away your pecker so he things we were pissing.”

Yeorgi will have good dreams of childhood tonight. Remembrances of times past. Remembrances of times without killing and death. Memories of an ugly swimming mole thousands of miles away and far from thousands of deaths as well. Tonight his childhood will come flooding back to him. Tomorrow he will kill or be killed but tonight is for memories. Tonight is for a little creature found in only two places on earth. Little does Yeorgi know but later in the spring he will once more be in the Caucuses near his Grandparents old home site fighting for his life from a gunshot wound to his left lung while the desmans he knew and loved will sniff the air and taste his blood in the water. The last thing he will hear is a desman calling his mate and it will bring a smile to his face as his final death rattle escapes his lips.

The Ozone Layer

The smell of ozone was a pungent reminder of all the electronic equipment placed around the map room. Teletypes and radios gave off that distinctive smell. It reminded some of the younger officers of their electric toy trains. Before the war they were popular although you had to be rich to own one. Many of the younger officers in the room were from wealthy families. Families that made sure they were in the command structure and not on the frontline. Being rich has its privileges even in America.

The lighting in the room was subdued to remind those gathered around that it was 0424 hours outside but in Europe it was mid-morning and that’s what mattered in this enclosed enclave of the brain trust of the US military. General Eisenhower was back for a rare meeting with Truman and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The Generals gathered around the large map of the Pyrenees Region of Europe were contemplating their next move. Ironically each was suspicious that there was a mole amongst them when in reality there wasn’t. Each was guarded with their true thoughts and the meeting was rather stiff and heavy with non-committal statements and laced with short, stiff questions and answers. Individually they knew that they personally were not spies but the word from the FBI and other sources pointed to a spy in their mists. Each had known each other for years and therefore could not imagine anyone of them being the mole but the evidence was overwhelming. Someone at the highest level was leaking information to the Communists and that information was getting to Stalin.

Little did they know that each and every one of them was innocent and the real spy was a janitor who had a photographic memory.[18] One look and it was etched in his brain forever. When he got back to his low rent apartment he simply wrote down what he saw and heard that day. He also copied the maps from memory. Just a glance and he had every detail ready to reproduce the most intricate maps. It was an amazing genetic skill that had made him quite a bit of money. That’s why he did it. He didn’t care about capitalism or communism. All he cared about was that the army paid a barely livable wage but the guy with the heavy accent paid him in gold for his days’ work. He had almost $3000 in gold hidden and could soon have enough to start that camera store he had been dreaming about ever since he got his first Brownie camera. That was before his father died and then his mother had to sell the camera to get food on the table. The foreign guy has warned him not to spend any of the money under threat of death.

Maybe he was leaning towards communism. I bet they didn’t let their children starve just because their father died in an industrial accident. His mother was helpless when his sister took ill. A simple dose of medicine would have saved her but there was no money in the house and she had died. Yes I guess he could see the advantages of communism. Everyone was supposed to be equal and took care of each other. He was sure his mother would have been a communist but she died when he was 16. He avoided the orphanage and somehow stayed alive in Washington D.C. getting a lucky break by being in the right place at the right time for once in his life.

The generals knew nothing of this and were discussing the situation in Spain.

“We need to shore up the line near Ripoll. They can’t hold much past next month and have to be relieved. I suggest that we make a lot of hype and hoopla and send in the Big Red One. That will get the attention of the Reds and convince them that we mean business in Spain and that they had better double down.”

“It’s probably over kill Bill but I agree. It will show the Brits and Spanish that we mean business as well as the Reds. It will be a good moral booster and will keep everyone’s attention on the Pyrenees Line instead of elsewhere.”

“Ed write an order for me to sign promoting Frank Milburn back to Corps Command and promote George Taylor to take over the 1st Division. Give him another star along with that promotion.”

“You mean Taylor from the 16th Regiment? The one with the great quote from D-Day?”[19]

“That would be him. Play it up in the press. One of America’s greatest heroes is being sent to Spain to stem the Red Army etc. Play up his quote to about “there being only two kinds of people on the beach. The dead and the about to die.” or whatever he said and let’s make some hay with his promotion and being sent to Spain. We want the Reds attention fixed on the Pyrenees and not looking over their shoulder. We’ll pull the Big Red One out after the first amphibious assault and use them for a later operation but for right now we need them and their notoriety in Spain.”

Luckily for all involved the janitor was not working that night and did not hear or see anything relating to future operations outside of Spain. The secret was safe for now.

Bats

A large map of Britain with range circles drawn out from various points along the French and English Channel coast line. The light is harsh and bright in the large room. Right now it is quiet but soon it will the main focal point of the Red Army Air Force or VVS. It is late and two men are alone in the room discussing the upcoming operations.

Aren’t you glad that you listened to that Sergo fellow Marshal Novikov and increased production of the Tu2s over the IL 10?”

“Yes I am Paval. They are perfect for the upcoming attacks on the RAF. So fast that they can almost be their own fighter cover once they drop their bombs. They are more complicated to produce but well worth the effort. It’s as if Sergo knew we were going to attack the British. Do you suppose he put the thought in comrade Stalin’s ear? I do not recall this being a priority when the plan was laid out in December? “

“I of course am not privilege to such discussions comrade Marshal.”

“Ha I suppose not Paval… yes I suppose not. Those Tu2s will no doubt be very effective for what we have in mind. Very fast and can still carry a good bomb load. They can get to their target fast and back to base even faster. Too fast for some of the older fighters even. Very similar to the British Mosquito except much stronger and able to take a beating. Carries more munitions also. We will have over 2000 ready for the upcoming battle along with 150 of the Tu 10. Now this one is a very impressive plane with a top speed close to the Mosquito. NATO now calls the Tu 2 the Bat.”

“Tupolev has really become a hero of the Soviet Union. Imagine designing a plane while in a prison cell and then have it impress Stalin so much that he is freed and made a hero. Quite a story.”

“I’m sure he could have done even better if he hadn’t been put in that sharshka that is for certain. I guess all that ends well is good. He will have a bright future if I have any sway with comrade Stalin.”

“I’m sure you will comrade Marshal. I’m sure you will.”

“The conversion of many of the Yak 3s and Yak 9s to long distance DD models is almost finished. The IL10s, Lag 7s and Pe 2s have been given drop tanks if needed extending their ranges as the fight progresses. There is no part of the British Islands that we cannot reach in overwhelming numbers with escorted bombers in numbers never seen over British skies. Combined with the sortie rate we had over Berlin of over 6,000 a day we can cover quite a large swath of enemy territory with overwhelming odds.”

“Beria tells me that the RAF is frantically trying to make alterations and change tactics at the last minute. A new man has taken charge but it will be too late for them.”

“It doesn’t matter as long as we keep getting the excellent and accurate information we have been receiving there will be no escape for them and no surprises for us.”

“That is true. Foreknowledge of the enemy’s plans trumps all other sources of information including advanced radar and even marginally better equipment. The British and the Yankees should know this better than anyone else given their advantage over the Germans in this area. Beria’s sources have confirmed that the British had broken the German and Japanese codes early on during the war. It was like playing chess with an opponent that has to tell you his next three moves ahead of time. Not very challenging in my estimation. Now the shoe is on the other foot as it were and we now know the enemy’s plans ahead of time and they will have to react to our initiatives. Beria informed the Politburo that the British had actually caught and then used every single German spy as a double agent. Every single one! Can you imagine what confidence and possible outright arrogance they must have in their intelligence operations when in fact we have so many sources throughout the different levels of both their government and military that it is getting hard to keep track of them all.

“Not a very enviable position to be in especially if you do not know the whole situation and how much of a disadvantage you are. It appears that the Americans are suspicious of the British. Little do they know that we have infiltrated both of their command and political systems very deeply as well. We have sacrificed a few of our agents to lull them into complacency. We shall see how they react.”

“I personally don’t like all this spying and subterfuge. We have overwhelming odds. Let’s attack them as soon as we can and not delay. Who knows when they will catch our spies? We should strike while they are changing tactics.”

“All I can do is recommend. It is up to Stalin and the Politburo to decide when we sweep the skies over Britain clean of the RAF and their cities are at our mercy. After all there is politics involved too. It is possible that the current weak kneed Limey government will acquiesce to Stalin’s demands after our demonstration flights and the atomic bomb propaganda campaign. Even I was impressed with Beria’s and Molotov’s brilliant bluff. I’m sure it’s creating a very large wave of distrust between the Capitalist pig governments of NATO. It was a very convincing performance and well thought out series of clever ruses combined with just enough grains of truth to make it seem possible.”

“The American’s have many eye witnesses that saw their atomic bomb laden B29 slam into the Baltic Sea. There can be no dissension from them.”

“Yes but the Limey’s are already suspicious of the information they have been getting from their cousins. This of course has been aided by well place pieces of disinformation planted by our agents throughout 1945 and early 1946. Neither side truly trusts the other.”

“It is like a Matryoshka doll[20]. One inside another inside another inside another.”

“Yes a very deadly Doll. Paval a very deadly one for one side or the other.”

Just One of Many

The fog had lifted just enough for him to use his flashlight to signal what he assumed was a Soviet sub. His red light was barely visible to someone on shore but readable for his intended target. If the coast was clear he was to pass on a short string of numbers by pointing his flashlight directly east from a certain point on the shore. He had no idea but he suspected that he was not the only one doing this. His handler said that some kind of vessel would be watching and when he got a message passed to him he was supposed to relay that string of numbers to the night on the exact minute past the hour that corresponded to yesterday’s date. He would get no response.

He was told that others would receive a response but not he and that would be the check on if his message got through. So far he and the other unknown communist sympathizers were performing as directed. His handler contacted him by what they called a dead drop and it was rotated. It was usually just a newspaper, a wadded up piece of butchers paper etc. just something innocuous that could be written on and a short string of numbers would sometimes be hidden in some other text or sometimes not. The hand writing seemed to be different every time. So far he had only been given and sent 13 messages.

The Home Guard had been given the task of once again patrolling the coastlines. He was a long time member of the Home Guard and hated the Nazis with a passion.[21] He also hated capitalism for the things it had done to his family. His father died in the coal mines that refused to install the safety measures that killed him. He was crushed in a cave in that was easily prevented. His brother was currently suffering from Black Lung disease and would not see another Christmas. To be fair he was a repository of hundreds of horrific industrial accidents and safety violations for the union and this tainted his view of the world. It was hard to look at report after report of severed limbs, preventable diseases, horrific working conditions and not be affected by what he saw. He was keeping a list of the names of the people responsible so that when the communists took over they could be prosecuted for their crimes.

And he wanted that day to come. Britain needed a cleansing like France during her revolution. The monarchy and the House of Lords would be the first to lose everything. He did not wish for their lives but he did wish for their being introduced to justice. He belonged to no Communist organizations and was approached after remarks in a pub far from home. He suspected that they had played on his position with the union and had been watching him. He was not outspoken and the Government could hardly lock up or prevent every union member from being in the armed forces or the Home Guard.

The Home Guard presented itself as the best way for him at age 54 to prevent the Nazis’ from invading his homeland. It also was the best thing he could do to see that the communists, dealt out justice to those who deserved it. There were a lot of communist sympathizers in Britain than people realized but not many joined the party. Like him they were not that blatantly political and kept their cards close to the vest. He was assured that the Soviets would not invade but just wanted to force Britain into neutrality and to hasten a home grown communist government.

It took him 15 seconds to flash the message and then he continued his rounds. He made it look like he was urinating. Carrying the flashlight was not suspicious as it was part of his equipment. It was always the longest 15 seconds of his life and now it was over until the next time. He moved on and did his job just like always. He always took a piss at the same spot and always took 15 seconds.

He has no idea what he was sending. Just numbers to him but if he can help to bring the criminals to justice who have put so many families in dire straits by killing and maiming their men then he was glad to do it. Justice for the untouchable aristocrats had to be meted out. He didn’t know the right communist terminology but he was all for it. The workers needed to be avenged and united against the aristocrats and the sooner the better. It was time for a change.

Little Ones Make a Difference

The Soviet version of the Seahund #28 renamed the Malyshka# 2 raised it periscope at the prescribed time and the commander of the 2 man crew turned to gaze due West. It was 5 minutes before the scheduled time but he did not want to be late. For the last 2 days they had seen nothing and would be going back to port with nothing to show for their 4 day voyage. A long way from the Uboat captains and their month’s long cruises with 10s of thousands of tons of sunk shipping in their log.

In talking with his other Seehund commanders, while waiting to go out again, he was always disheartened at the lack of success reported by all. The NKVD commander heaped praise on them for all the messages they brought back but it seemed like little consolation for living in a tin can submerged for days at a time dodging those damn planes and patrol boats. Very few ships had tasted the touch of their torpedoes. He himself had had only one chance and the firing mechanism on the torpedo tube had failed. He was so frustrated he screamed scaring the piss out of Victor… literally. It did not help the atmosphere in the crowded hull. The target missed was a beautiful Liberty ship full of who knows what. What a fat and tempting target.

It passed within easy torpedo range and by the time he was to attempt to shoot with the second shot it had slid out of correct resolution and when he had tried to correct the settings the knob had fallen off and with the periscope raised he could not reach it in time without putting the periscope down which by the time he was able to accomplish this it was too late. 14,000 tons sliding by within easy reach of his torpedoes and nothing to show for it.

He had heard similar stories from other commanders. It seemed like something always fell apart or failed to function at the most critical moment. He knew of at least two dozen stories of Little Sausages being in perfect position for an easy shot and something falling off or failing to connect etc. Thank goodness the Germans had worked out the basic hull integrity and surfacing abilities that keep the vessel safe and virtually undetectable when submerged. But the little things still plagued the machines and sinking’s by Seehunds were rare.

On the bright side it did keep the British busy trying to hunt them down and the appearance of the Little Ones in the Irish Sea must have been a major surprise to the Royal Navy. Their commanders insisted that their mere threat was enough to justify their cost but he was not convinced. He wanted to sink capitalist vessels and their supplies that were being used to kill his countrymen and comrades. He was happy that he did not have to experience the 8 day missions to the far reaches of the British Isles made possible by the refueling at sea of the Seehunds. The larger subs would leave you in a flash if they even imagined a destroyer or heard a rumor of a plane.

One commander said a sea gull had cut his fueling short. Imagine the idiot Captain’s thoughts when he figured that out.

Some of the Little Ones were being trained to surface and loose what was probably a radio beacon for the upcoming battle for the skies of Britain or was it England? Who cares he was not involved. He couldn’t even pickup any downed pilots. They were too small.

He had heard that some beacons would be placed in a special torpedo that would float when it ran out of air and then the beacon would ping away until some Limey tried to destroy it. If they got too close it would start up again. I bet that would scare the crap out of you. I wonder if they will let any of the Seehunds wait around to see if they can put a torpedo into a nice destroyer. He hated destroyers. Too many depth charges and too fast.

Perl

Well here he was in the Worker’s Paradise on the other side of the Ural Mountains. Not much but it beat a jail cell or firing squad back in the good old USA. It was early Fall so the cold had not set in yet. He heard it was much colder here than Cleveland even at its worse.

William Perl was in his element. The jet engine he was examining was close to the ones he had worked on for months at the NACA Lewis Flight Propulsion Laboratory. And now he was in Russia for god’s sake. Well it was his own fault for listening to Barr and Sarant. Maybe he should regain his real name of Mutterperl. It might be easier to hide his past. He’ll let the NKVD worry about that. He spent most of his time translating the English instructions so that they could follow the schematics he has provided over the years. He helped out with the metallurgy as well even though that was not his expertise. He made it become one… along with many others he dreamed of doing in the US. He was free here to do what he wanted just as long as he got results, and results he got.

He was unleashed here. Not held back by the older engineers in Ohio. Here he was the big shot and they listened to him. Maybe that’s what he wanted all along… to be the big shot. Is that why he became a Communist? Seems strange to pine for what was supposed to be an egalitarian society so that you could finally be in charge.

Compared to the average worker he was treated like a king here, which wasn’t saying much. He did have a great looking wife. He suspected that she was an agent sent to spy on him but she was a good actress and it was easy to believe she loved him. Man was she good in bed. He didn’t know such things could be done. And those legs went on for miles. He was head over heels and an egghead like him would never get a girl like that in the states or any girl for that matter. So yeah she had to be a spy. But what the hell, He had nothing to hide here.

He estimated that within 6 months they would be cranking out these engines on an industrial scale with that spooky Sergo guy working the angles. He only saw him once. Weird looking little guy to have all this power. I guess Stalin saw the potential and let the guy loose. His henchman Georgie was another matter. That guy got things done like no man he had ever seen even better than Boeing or Ford he bet. Certainly he was bigger. The guy was 6’ 6” and 300lbs. His voice was the loudest thing he ever heard besides this jet engine.

Most of the time he didn’t have to yell at all or even speak. He would just look and point and whatever it was it was fixed right away. No you did not… want to piss him off.

Sticking these engines in the MiG 9 was not the best solution but it would do until MiG came up with that swept wing beauty he had seen. Kind of looked like that German plane he examined… what was that number… oh yea… the TA 183. That swept back tail that NACA developed should come in real handy on whatever number MiG put on their new creation. It would be a real Shooting Star and Super Fortress killer that’s all he knew.

Hell when the US turned Communist he could go back and be king of the aerospace industry. He’d show those assholes who was in charge alright. It would almost make up for that trip through Mexico to this god forsaken place. God what a disaster of a trip that was. He still didn’t know why he didn’t get caught. He suspected that the Reds had someone on the inside in the OSS

He’d better get his mind back to work so he could get home quick. Zoya had promised him something special for tonight and he couldn’t wait to get between her long legs once more. Yea who needed Coca Cola and a Ford when you had a pair of legs like that wrapped around you every night? It was more than an even trade. Shit if he ever got tired of Zoya I bet they would set him up with a new one. As long as he produced they would provide. He was sure of it.[22]

La-7

Chapter Twelve:

Fore Play

Yak 3U

* * *

Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster.

Sun Tzu

* * *

The Swarm

The swarm started to rise on the radar screens all over Britain. Ever since the attack on the Bone Yards this had occurred daily. Low level and high level radar picked up the now daily activity. It was obvious that the Soviets were trying to intimidate the British government as well as practice for the upcoming hostilities. Thousands of planes climbing for the sky and daily flying off to do practice bombing and strafing runs filled the skies of France and the Low Countries. On the radar screens it sometimes looked like a mayfly swarm rising from the waters of a clear mountain lake. Only it was September and these mayflies had the power to destroy a nation.

Novikov was in his element. Directing and choreographing on a macro level the deadly ballet that he had promised would lay waste to the Royal Air Force of Great Britain. This of course has been tried before and failed. Some say that Goering and the Luftwaffe came within a hairs width of defeating the RAF and some say the issue was never in doubt. By this time in history many a historian and military strategist had waxed eloquently on what the RAF did right and where the Luftwaffe efforts went wrong.

Novikov had read many of these essays and even interviewed a fair number of German and captured British commanders who fought in the first battle for the skies of Britain. He and his staff had immersed themselves in the history and lore of the Battle of Britain. A few very large and significant factors seemed to stand out.

As the Americans and the Germans found out, the range of their fighters must match the range of the bombers if they were to bomb in daylight. They must be escorted to and from the target. This lesson seemed clear.

Sergo and his minions had made sure that the VVS had competitive fighters that could range over the entire British Isles. In addition thousands of the acknowledged best fighters to come out of the last war would have their range extended by the use of drop tanks. The Yak 3s and Lag 7s would swarm the area over Southern England known as 11 Group. Not as well known in the West, these models were well known to the Germans.

The Yak 3U was a late war model that once the Germans got to know its characteristics the orders came to avoid engaging it below 5000 meters. It was considered too dangerous and they had no plane that could match its performance. It was easily competitive to the best of the US and UK fighters below 5,000 meters.

The Lag 7 had ended the vertical maneuvering superiority of the German fighters and was faster than the FW 190 fighter bombers who plagued the Soviet troops with their hit and run tactics. They could no longer run.

The Luftwaffe failed in the initial Battle of Britain because of situational awareness and lack of basic intelligence. They had no idea if their attacks were effective, what was working and what was not. Did a second raid need to be made or even the location of the targets themselves? Very often the wrong targets were hit and when the right ones were hit they did not know how effective the strike was. In addition no one of competence was given over-all command.

This would not be the case in this battle. The excellent Soviet spy system had been feeding information to the NKVD and Beria for years. They knew the initial disposition of virtually every fighter squadron and its back up fields as well. Each factory location and what they produced there was carefully plotted. Their destruction carefully planned and their magnitude of importance to keeping the RAF flying carefully projected. The luxury of six months to plan was indeed a welcome change from the war years.

The VVS also had the luxury of not caring about the RAF bomber fleet and its demise. Their only concern was the destruction of Fighter Command. Their bombers were not going to be used for terror raids or shipping attacks. Their sole purpose was to either lure fighters into the air or to destroy them on the ground.

The elimination of the air defense system from the equation was well thought out. The British Anti-Aircraft Command was a formidable foe and the first 4 weeks of the campaign would be critical. The combination of defeating the VT proximity fuse and other planned innovations and tactics should be enough to accomplish the task of leaving the air fields of the RAF helpless for significant periods of time.

In the lower half of the British Isles this would once again be the time of the Sturmovik. With its range augmented by drop tanks the IL10 would range far and wide in southern England decimating anything that moved around the RAF fighter fields. Eventually it was planned that the regions known to the RAF as Group 11 and 12 would be devoid of safe places to land and gain respite from their relentless pursuers.

The other areas of the British Isles that harbored fighter squadrons would fall to other models of Soviet planes but Group 11 and 12 would be the domain of the Sturmovik and its unrivaled variety of deadly ground attack ordinance. Once the initial attacks began there would be nowhere to hide for the fighters of Group 11 and 12. Every waking hour the skies would be filled with Sturmoviks on the hunt.

They would have to retreat, but where? If they failed to rise to the fight then the VVS had won. If they ran to Iceland or Spain then the VVS had won. The destruction of the British infrastructure would begin just like it had to a helpless and prostrate Germany and Japan. The TU2S held as many pounds of incendiaries as the B17 and Lancaster bombers that fueled a fire storm in Dresden. The TU2S could range all over the British Isles. The Tu2S was significantly faster than the B17.

With the British populace devoid of an air umbrella the Pe 8 and Pe 9 heavy bombers of the VVS could be used with impunity, dropping their full loads of 11,000 lbs of bombs on the helpless populations below.

If victory was not swift in coming the British would invent counter measures to the ones being practiced overhead. Novikov knew that for his own health and wellbeing, he needed the Second Battle of Britain to be over in less than a month. With 5 to 1 odds it was imperative that he defeat Fighter and Anti-Aircraft Command quickly.

Stalin’s goal was not to invade Great Britain but to take it out of the war effort… to make it a neutral observer. To prevent it from becoming the unsinkable aircraft carrier it became in World War Two. To let the internal communist sentiments rule over the unruly… to assist a nascent communist party in its efforts to gain control over the people of the British Isles… to have them join the workers’ paradise… to throw out the Capitalist dogs that have held sway over the world’s peoples for far too long.

The Acorn

It was on May 12th 1944 at 7:43 am that the big oak came down. Edmond Eyre had been keeping an eye on that tree on Llancadle Farm for over a year. Ian had finally given him permission to harvest the tree and it came down with a resounding crash. It was cut up into proper lengths and hauled off to the lumber mill and turned into a number of large beams. One of which was destined to shore up the thatched roof of the Green Dragon Inn in Llancadle proper. The roof had a tendency to catch fire a couple times a century and the latest owners were looking for some security from previous mishaps.

The tree itself had an interesting history. The acorn it grew from was on its way to be roasted and used for flour by another man named Eyre. This man named Eyre came from Co Galeay, Ireland. His first name is lost to history but he was one of the fortunate few to escape the Irish Potato famine of 1847.

The good ship Wanderer docked in Newport and deposited 113 destitute men, women and children with 20 of them said to be close to death. Our man Eyre was one of them and was foraging far and wide a few months later when he came upon a great store of acorns near Alberthaw. The pile of acorns was on the grounds of what would become the Boys School there. He gathered all he could in his pockets and moved on to find other edible forage to bring back to his family. Acorns could be used for flour if properly treated and many a life was saved during times of famine in Europe. Eyre knew this and was hedging his bets. On the way back to New Port our acorn fell of his pocket and started to germinate that spring on Llancadle Farm.

It was amazing to think that the huge oak just needed sunlight, water and some common nutrients to become the colossus it was. How from a little acorn no bigger than your big toe it turned into the towering shade tree that it had become. And then in another amazing transformation to the pieces of lumber that kept many a man women and child warm and out of the elements for possibly another century or more.

The tree that Edmond Eyre cut down was close to a hundred years old and was the spawn of our acorn. That 96 year old tree would have taken the life of Edmond Eyre’s distant relative, Commander Anthony Eyre on Saturday 16th, 1946. As fate would have it the huge oak was not there to send the metal rod through Edmonds heart, for all that was left was a stump. Therefore Commander Eyre’s Tempest NV787 had no obstacle to impede its progress as it plowed into the ground after a failure in the sleeve drive mechanism caused the engine to seize after takeoff.

Commander Eyre was an RAF ace with 9 victories before being shot down over France after being married for only 68 days. He was sent to the infamous Stalag Luft III for three years. After the war he was on a routine flight when the incident that should have taken his life occurred. Fate rules all and the tree that he should have crashed into was not there. Parts of it were scattered in places like the Green Dragon and surrounding homes in Llancadle.[23] Anthony Eyre’s distant relative planted the tree that was destined to take his life. Another of his relatives cut it down thus saving his life.

Eyre was itching to get into the fight again. He had sat out the last three years of the war in Stalag III and was ready to fly in earnest once more. They offered him one of the Gloster Meteors but he preferred to stay with the Tempest for the upcoming festivities with the Soviets. Something about the roar of a propeller ripping through the air was ingrained in his heart. The high pitched whine of a jet engine just didn’t sound right to him yet just yet. He’d move on to the Meteor or Vampire soon he supposed.

After that close call with his last Tempest and the touchy drive sleeve mechanism he was a little jumpy. He had been told that his most likely opponents would be the Lag 7 and Yak 3. They had the range to fly at low and medium altitude over Group 11 and most of Group 12 with drop tanks. Both were formidable opponents flown by seasoned veterans. This would be interesting if the 5 to 1 odds turned out to be true.

He had of course crashed before, the first time in his first flight in a Gladiator. He never thought he would live that one down. The last war started in earnest and it was readily apparent that the Gladiator was obsolete with only one scoring an air to air victory against the 109. The switch to Hurricanes came just in time for Eyre to get 3 kills in May while his squadron was constantly on the move running from the marauding Panzers in France. During the Battle over Convoy Bosom in the Channel he shot down three more 109s. Being sent to Preswick for a little rest defending Group 13 became an unwelcome reprieve after only a few weeks while the battle raged on over the skies of Britain.

In December, 1941 the now Wing Commander Eyre was flying with the “Circus” and trying to lure German fighters into battle over France when he was shot down. By fighting over enemy territory you lose home field advantage and the pilots that do survive and end up jumping out of a damaged plane also end up in an enemy prison camp. On March 8th, 1944 the newly wed Eyre crashed landed once again but this time near Abbeville in his Spitfire and spent the remainder of the war as a POW.

But that was the last war. All he could do now was to work to prepare his men and their machines. He hated leaving his still newly wedded wife but duty was duty. This was going to be one hell of a fight.

Green Dragon Inn in Llancadle proper

Chapter Thirteen:

People of Note

50 Berkeley Square

The noise down in the basement was very unusual. For the last couple of lifetimes things had been very quiet down there. I just had to go down and see what was going on. I chose the usual way and went through the top 3 floors without drawing so much as a glance. One of the women who was making the most noise in the basement suddenly stopped and looked around. I guess she was one of those people who can sense things. Seeing nothing she went back to work.

They had gutted the whole basement and were putting in large tables and huge charts on the wall. I think they were putting in strings for those things they call phones and the noise was deafening.

I was not use to the noise. For a very long time I had the home to myself for the most part. Every once in a while someone would move in but eventually they would leave or die. I’ve had quite a few die in the house over the years. Many seemed to stay despite whatever I could do to dissuade them from remaining. They tried to ignore me for the most part. Children seemed particularly fascinated with me.

This new lot was particularly involved in what they were doing. It had been a long time since any improvements had been done to the home. I did not think what they were doing was an improvement. All these little rooms with a desk and phones… dozens and dozens of phones all connected by those strings or wires I guess you call them. I am learning many new words. Such things as yaks and squadrons, some really interesting terms and names are very intriguing.

The other day they were mentioning Listening Posts. Can you imagine a post with ears? Why would you have such a thing or just now they were talking about Spitfires. That must be a horrible thing: Something that spits fire on the loose and apparently is flying around. From what I can gather there are a lot of things flying around that are not birds out there. I cannot look outside to see for myself.

It seems the basement has been turned into a kind of headquarters for some kind of fighting. They have put down large maps of what I assume is Britain and the women are moving around and listening to something though contraptions they have about their heads. Apparently they can speak and hear something or someone that tells them to move little pieces of wood around on the maps using long thin sticks with a little hoe at the end. They push these wood blocks around and others watch them and then the men rush off to talk into those phones. So far the majority of the blocks have stayed in France from what I can figure out.

I remember another time when what sounded like explosions shook the house. Sometimes for what seemed like hours. Then the sirens would stop and all would be quiet. I wonder if that was going to happen again? I don’t get much excitement in my existence anymore. I had long ago stopped thinking of the reasons for my existence and just continued being.

English is not my native language or I should say this version of English. I can catch some of the words but much of what is said is beyond my comprehension. I believe I have lost the ability to learn. This is most annoying considering that 3 of the upstairs floors are filled with books. I very rarely come down from the 4th floor and even more rarely come out of the room but the noise down the basement was too much of a temptation.

The air shaft provides a convenient passageway down and saves me from the look of horror when I am seen. I can be seen or not seen at my discretion but I prefer not to be touched. So the air shaft is a perfect conduit to the goings on in the basement. I will state most emphatically here and now that I do regret the deaths I have caused. Some were not my fault but one was. You see I can see into the hearts of the sentient beings I come in contact with. That is why I do not like to be touched or to touch anyone.

The person I killed or should I say frightened to death was a monster. Some drunk sailor that has just horribly raped a young girl as he had done many a time before. This time she had died. At the age of 13 she had been used and then strangled and then mutilated by this butcher. Shortly after this horrific deed he ended up stumbling into my room along with his partner. I was so startled by their sudden appearance that I was touched by him. I then saw what he had just done. So I made myself known and he died of fright I guess you would say. His friend escaped.

One of the men down in the basement almost reeked of malevolence. He was an evil man. I was very tempted to make myself known to him down in the basement but for some reason I felt it was against some unwritten rule. He was going or had done something very heinous to the others in the room and also to many others. He was going to cause the deaths of many yet would also save many; an interesting outcome that I did not quite understand. In war one sometimes forgets that there are two or more sides and when one side wins the others lose and the death of one can save the lives of many. This man I would have liked to meet face to face in the room upstairs.

I have overheard and understand that I am quite famous in certain quarters. The current residents in the lower 3 floors do not bother me but run their book business and leave me alone. I do prefer this. I really do not like frightening people. My home is called the most haunted house in London. I suppose I should be flattered but I do not know my role in the grand scheme of things. Why am I trapped here? What is my purpose? Have I been here for decades to just frighten to death that sailor? How do I find release and peace?

My address is 50 Berkeley Square London, England. Do not drop by for a visit. You will most likely be sorely disappointed… or depending on what is in your heart… possibly not.[24]

Bader

Chief of the Air Staff 1st Baron Arthur Tedder couldn’t believe what he read. His office walls seemed to close in on him as he tried to fathom what was before his eyes. They were actually listening to Douglas Bader. Douglas Bader of Big Wing fame… of the useless Big Wing fame.

He thought the death of Leigh-Malory would put an end to this nonsense. He was so stunned that he was paralyzed with disbelief. Not only where they going to try and take the fight to the enemy and give up all of their home air space advantages by conducting useless fighter sweeps but they were going to concentrate their fighters in the larger fighter bases and defend them with massive amounts of AA guns making every one into a big flack trap.

For all he knew that part might work but the Big Wing controversy was supposed to be over and done with. It didn’t work last time and he was certain it wouldn’t work this time. But what could he do?

They were listening to Bader now. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out how Park had been persuaded. It wasn’t like him to give in so easily. Tedder knew he wasn’t a fighter man anyway. They wouldn’t listen to him for God’s sake on matters involving Fighter Command.

His sense of foreboding was mounting the more he thought about it. Four or possibly five to one odds and now this.

He had to leave the office and take a long… long walk. Possibly go home and see to his family and not think about what was to happen. Of all people Bader. Leigh-Malory’s hand rises from the grave. It was too much he had to leave before he did something rash.[25]

Novikov Reports

Novikov paced outside the door of the most terrifying man in the world. He knew what game Stalin was playing. Hell he used it himself. He used it because it worked… Just like it was working on him. The trouble was he could not control himself.

Novikov thought… It’s the anticipation that does it. You just can’t help thinking about it. He knew what he was going to say. He had all the facts and figures. He had all the justification he needed to put the blame squarely on Beria. That little weasel had been out foxed by the RAF. His pool of spies had failed to alert the VVS of the upcoming attack. Without that advance information things were going to go wrong just like with any military operation. The only reason they had been almost completely successful in intercepting the Capitalist air raids was because of advanced notice. Without it Leningrad would be a smoking pile of radiation and more attacks would have followed on more cities.

What a monstrous invention the atomic bomb was. He actually hoped that the VVS will never be given the opportunity to use one. He didn’t know if he could sleep at night knowing he had created such wanton destruction. He wondered if the American commanders and pilots who detonated them over those two helpless cities in Japan had any regrets. Snap out of it Novikov… you have to be aggressive and have your facts in order.

Go over them one more time. Despite what the British press is saying we only lost 58 pilots and 116 planes. Out of tens of thousands of pilots that is not many. We lose more pilots per month in training then that. The destruction of facilities and supplies were well with in normal ranges for a day’s worth of combat. A pin prick your Excellency… no… Comrade.

I don’t want to seem too obsequious. He pretends to like that but in reality that is what gets you killed. He had seen it many times. Many times…

Concentrate Alexander… he is the most dangerous man on earth… yes a pin prick Comrade and easy healed. If Beria had warned us like he contends he can, this would not happened at all. If you will recall Excellency, Comrade Beria is the one who promised to inform us of any major raid by the RAF and USAAF. And I will say that so far he has been doing very well. But to blame me and the VVS for this is beyond reason. If anyone is to blame it is the NKVD under the direction of Lavrentiy Beria.

In his mind he takes a more conciliatory tone.

But do not be too hard on him comrade he has done very well so far and I have confidence in him (because he knows too many of my secrets) and I am sure he will not fail again. This and the attack by the Capitalist battleships were mistakes but correctable ones comrade. Do not go too hard on him.

It does not do any harm to try and soften the blow for Lavrentiy. He is a dangerous man to cross and this is not worthy of his ire.

Ouch… damn… my toe hurts. I must have gout or something. Of all the time for this to happen. Oh damn it… it hurt!

The door opens and an aide beckons Novikov inside.

How does he do that? How did he know my foot would be hurting? He must have a witch on his payroll…

“Alexander Novikov, Chief Marshal of Aviation reporting as ordered Comrade.”

The door closes behind the aide as the aide leaves the room without looking back.

Beria Interrupted

Lavrentiy Beria turned his thoughts from the rape of the young women in the next room to the list in front of him. It was hard to make the transition from the pleasures of the flesh, to thoughts of war, but not impossible. He had done it many times. Stalin had interrupted any number of sexual assaults, He had to run to the Cripple’s side and pretend that nothing was wrong any number of times.[26] He had to lick the boots of the only man in the world who terrified him. So far he had been able to leave the pleasure he was experiencing and endured the torture of being in Stalin’s presence, so far.

Someday… soon, he would have the pleasure of strangling the pock marked cripple with his own hands. At least that is what he fantasized about. Someday, but not today.

The list gave him almost as much pleasure as the young Georgian virgin he has just brutally attacked. On the list was his stable of spies spread throughout the world. Spies whose positions ranged from janitors and cooks to one of the men sitting next to President Truman. Spies who help decide what the vast factories of the Americans made and more importantly what they didn’t make. Amazing how one little piece of metal or a small spring, not produced in time, could do to a bomber, a tank or even the ammunition that each used.

The recruiter for the agents in the American War Production Board was incredible. He maybe too amazing. He would have to be interrogated to learn why he was so successful and possibly eliminated. You cannot have such a person, such an impressive recruiter, loose and uncontrolled.

The War Production Board had been called back into being, and many of his former agents were again deciding what should be produced and what shouldn’t. His agents did their job when America was producing the endless streams of bombers and tanks used to defeat the Nazi scum. They helped their allies make the right choices at the right time. They did anything to keep Lend Lease spewing forth its seemingly endless supply of war material. America went from producing 6,000 aircraft in 1940 to 85,000 in 1943 alone.

Now the situation had changed. With the Army Air Force switching to new jet planes and munitions, it would be quite understandable, if their production dropped dramatically and quality suffered with the transition. Yes, eventually the mistakes and errors would be discovered as deliberate. By that time the industrial and scientific might of the Soviet Union would be a match for even the Amerikosi. The Capitalist system was doomed, and the Communist system would prevail even without sabotage. It just needed time, and he would provide that time.

What did it matter that agents like Silvermaster, Perlo, Glazer and Fitzgerald were uncovered. By that time the war would be lost for the capitalists, and they would be expendable. Even the agents throughout the OSS like Neuann, Wheeler, Graze, Halperin and agent “Koch” could be replaced at will it seemed. Although Koch would be hard to replace. It would be hard to replace a man like Duncan Lee who is the Confidential Assistant to the so called “Wild Bill” Donovan head of the OSS.

The list went on and on. Many parts of the Capitalist scientific and weapons production programs were especially full of his agents. Everything from one of his agents smuggling out a machine gun prototype to the plans for the atomic bomb fell into his hands. Most of the major weapons of the Americans and British had been compromised. He had even engineered the defection of one of the leading designers of the newest Amerikosi jet engine. He knew as much or more about each than did Truman. Of particular note was the fact that he knew about the atomic bomb a full year before Truman did. It was pretty shocking yet true. Sometimes history is stranger than fiction.

And then of course, there was George Koval or agent Delmar, the man who stopped the production of the capitalist atomic bomb. The last message they had was that he was about to cross over the border to Canada, then nothing. Maybe the Mounted Police ran him over with their horses, somehow this was quite an amusing thought. The world’s greatest assassin, run over by a bunch of red coated cowboys. The man who used the world’s only supply of polonium to kill and cripple over a thousand of the West’s leading scientists.

The fact that thousands of their family members suffered also was of no concern. Delmar had undoubtedly saved hundreds of thousands of his countrymen’s lives. Imagine letting loose the world’s most deadly substance in a crowded room of atomic scientists and engineers not once, but twice by using small explosive devices in the air circulation system. George Koval was indeed a hero of the Soviet Union and would someday receive the recognition he deserved. George Koval the killer of the atomic bomb, at least for now.

Thanks to his spies and agents the Soviet Union was dictating the direction of the war. They were keeping the capitalists wondering where the next blow would fall. Keeping them back on their heels and reacting. They had to keep innovating. They had to keep pressing the advantages they had at the moment. They had to keep the NATO forces on the defensive. His life and the survival of the Soviet Union depended upon it. As long as that strange little Sergo person kept creating his wonders and that Georgie kept producing them, they would prevail.

He wondered how those Amerikosi movie starlets will react when they are alone in a room with Lavrentiy Beria. Alone with a man who had killed and raped hundreds. Alone with a man who lived to rape and terrorize young women. Dragged from their pampered lives and alone with a man who did not see them as human, just an object to be used and thrown away. Yes it would be most amusing.[27]

Barr and Sarant

The rather unassuming looking freighter had docked in Vladivostok barely a week before the war started. Joel Barr was midway through a very long journey. Someone else would see to the cargo from here. His job was over for now. The busy harbor took no notice of the ship as it was pushed into the slip. They would take no notice when it started to unload its cargo and no one would care when it was put on a train and left the city going West.

No one would care until a few months later when its cargo started to show up in Soviet factories, design bureaus and laboratories. The Western nations would not become aware of what happened until months into World War Three. But let’s start from the beginning.

Joel Barr was born in New York City to immigrant parents of Ukrainian-Jewish origin. He attended college in New York and was recruited by Julius Rosenberg to spy for the Soviet Union and International Communist movement. He worked along with Rosenberg at the United States Army Signal Corps laboratories at Ft. Monmouth, NJ during the war against the Nazis.

Barr was fired from his job at the Signal Corps for political activity in 1942, but had no trouble immediately getting a job at Western Electric. The Soviets would collect about 500 secret technical documents a month from Barr and his new friend Alfred Sarant between 1943 and 1945, and more from Rosenberg, including one of the more famous deliveries of a working proximity fuse.

You read that correctly he, along with his partner Alfred Sarant, they delivered a full working production version of the top secret proximity or VT fuse to the Soviet Union and Sergo Peskova in 1944. In addition Barr worked on the computerized gun sight, the SCR-520 and SCR-720 radar used in the P-61 Black Widow USAAF night fighter, a state of the art weapons system used briefly at the end of World War Two. In additions the two delivered a 12,000 page blue print of the YP-80 jet fighter, M-9 predictor along with several other radar systems over the period of a few years.

Near the end of the last war Barr and Sarant founded Sarant Laboratories in Seattle, WA and quietly started to buy quantities of the products that the booming electronics industry of the newly domesticated US economy was producing at a tremendous rate. The war was over and everyone wanted to make money selling America’s products. It was gold rush times once again with the crystal diodes, resistors, capacitors, vacuum tubes and relays pouring out of the US factories and shipped to whom ever paid the most for them. They would sell to anybody, because that is what Americans do. Even to a former Japanese enemy named Sony.

In this case it was to two former employees from some of the most secretive laboratories our nation had ever seen. After all what would be the harm of selling to two American scientists who just may invent some great new money making device. Two Americans who spent World War Two producing some of our greatest weapons we used against the Nazi monsters. Two Americans who between them made significant contributions to many of our latest sonar and radar systems NATO now possessed. These guys could be the new Boeing or even modern Edisons. Besides they weren’t buying great quantities of anything from one supplier and who was keeping track anyway. The war was over and it was time to make money, lots and lots of money.

The aforementioned freighter was actually the last of 10 with this one being filled with the latest and best. Millions of pieces of the US electronics industries newest creations were quietly packed up into little boxes that eventually were combined into bigger boxes that were used to fill these eleven unassuming ships bound for different ports that were easily accessible to the Soviet train and transportation system. Little by little all these parts made their way to the factories spread out in the Urals and little by little they were copied and many of the originals used in the Soviets newest generation of jets, tanks. shells, radar, radio and sonar sets.

Barr and Sarant were also on that last ship to leave American shores. Disguised as common seamen they would be greeted in secret as heroes of the Soviet Union and be placed in a design bureau of their own. First they would use the American made electronics to improve on existing Soviet weapons and then they actually would start producing new and improved versions of those same electronics.[28]

By the spring of 1947 the combination of Sergo, George, Barr, Sarant, Perl, Ilyushin, Mikoyan, Gurevich and Lavochkin would rival any other weapons design structure the world has ever seen. Complete with military hardware on the drawing boards and in development that would be able to go toe to toe with any equally destructive inventions that the West could produce. Time was running out and the technology gap enjoyed by the West was closing at an enormous rate. Combined with the fact that Perl, Barr, Sarant and Sergo knew exactly what weapons the West was working on itself and how to defeat each project, this was to be a world altering 6 months if left to its own devices. After all America’s newest jet the P-80 Shooting Star was designed and produced in 143 days and that is less than 6 months by my calculations.

No one but Beria and Sergo knew how devastating the defections of Perl, Barr and Sarant were. Between them they had not only worked on but were instrumental in most of the West’s most secret initiatives. The secret military hardware of unimaginable capabilities not only were passed on to Beria and Sergo but were also developed by these three traitors, or patriots which ever you prefer. Combined with the Cambridge Five, The Rosenbergs, The Ware Group, The Perlo Group, The Redhead Group just to name a few there was nothing the Soviets did not know about America’s and Britain’s greatest secrets when it came to military hardware.

In the West thousands of the best minds were concentrating on consumer products and cleaner, whiter laundry. In the East it was for world domination by military means.[29]

The King Rat

Major Sidney Bedford was very uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally. Here he was stuck in a Court Martial for a man who appeared to be a traitor. Yet one couldn’t be sure. Major Cecil Boon was being put on trial for collaboration. John Harvey and Michael Tugby were already let off because of the severe circumstances of the conditions in which they were held. The conditions were some of the worst ever endured in the 20th century. Because of the charges, after the war, they had endured nearly a year of ostracism and suffered the total loss of the joy of homecoming. All three were early survivors of the Japanese conquest of Hong Kong. All three were held for the duration of the war as POWs. All three stood trial.

Boon was considered the worst of the lot. He had 11 serious charges against him.

1. On or about Aug. 21, 1943 he informed on his fellow prisoners who were planning an escape attempt.

2. On or about Sept. 1st, 1943 he assisted in a search that found wireless components being used by fellow prisoners.

3. On or about Sept. 12th, 1943 he informed on Hubert George Carkeet.

4. On or about Oct. 20th, 1943 he informed on Maurice Richard Jones.

5. On or about Dec. 14th, 1943 he informed on William Joseph Buckley.

6. On or about Oct. 18th, 1944 he wrote a letter to the USAAF, who had just bombed Hong Kong, knowing that the letter would be used for propaganda purposes.

7. In May, 1944 he informed on Dutch Naval Petty Officer Waarenberg.

8. Between Aug. 23rd, 1943 and Aug. 17th, 1945 he assisted the enemy in the interrogation of Allied prisoners of war regarding the organization and equipment of the Royal Signals and Royal artillery.

9. Between Aug. 23rd, 1943 and Aug. 17th, 1945 he designed and implemented a system for spying on Allied prisoners of war.

10. Between Aug. 23rd, 1943 and Aug. 17th, 1945 he assisted the enemy in preventing prisoners of war from communicating, receiving medical and other supplies, and assisted with the selecting of medically un-fit prisoners for work duty.

Witness after witness for the prosecution presented damning testimony. Some even told tales not in the official charges, charges of assisting the enemy in searches, bribing the commandant with Red Cross packages, preventing parcels from being given to the men and informing on men who were writing letters home. 44 witnesses testified for the prosecution. One of the most interesting pieces of evidence was Boon’s own diary written in Russian admitting to some of the incidents.

The case boiled down to three questions…

1. What constituted “aiding the enemy”?

2. The meaning of the word “voluntarily’.

3. Intent to commit the crimes.

The Defense argued that many of the alleged offenses were by omission and not ones of commission, such as not asking for the suspension of parade on days of harsh weather. Boon told others to ask the commandant rather than asking himself. Another example would be looking the other way as the “Fat Pig” Col. Takanuka took supplies from the prisoner’s stores and Red Cross packages. “An error of omission, not of commission”, as described by the Defense.

The prosecution made an impassioned argument that Boon had aided the enemy, that he had hostile intent, and that throughout the period he had done it voluntarily for personal gain at the expense of his fellow prisoners. It was argued that he was a Regular Soldier in the Army. That he was brought up and trained to be a soldier and that the raising of a bamboo stick should not make him forget his duty and quake for his life.

“Yes, he is a coward and he let his cowardice aid the enemy.” That statement from the prosecutor rang through the court room.

Major Boon was found guilty of 6 counts and directed to serve 20 years of hard labor. Major Bedford might have sided with the defense in other circumstances. If they were not at war and the public wanted to heal and not dwell on the past, forgive and forget as it were. The fact that they were once again at war and this time with the Soviets, and that Boon had written his diary in Russian, convinced the panel that Boon had to be punished. And punished, he was.[30]

Chapter Fourteen:

It Begins

Soviet version of the German Seehund midget submarine

* * *

Invincibility lies in the defense; the possibility of victory, in the attack.

Sun Tzu

* * *

Battle of the Beacons Prelude

Seehunds 231 and 124 were on station and about to deploy the beacon. The floating radio transmitter would help guide the series of 1000 plane raids the VVS was about to unleash on the British Isles. A number of other beacons were scheduled to transmit as well today. Something was up and the skipper has become very… well anxious. He was checking things three times and even lubricating things that did not need it. But that was his way and his way had kept them alive through some terrifying times, from storms to depth charge attacks. We still were not sure about that last attack. How had they found us when all the other times we had just chuckled as we slid past underneath them? This last time was different they seemed to have picked something up, possibly the 4 extra packages we were carrying that contained the radio beacons.

It appeared that no physical damage had occurred but one never knew. They had endured a number of unnerving attacks. This time it was their turn. These beacons were not only used to guide the planes but also to attract their mortal enemy the Royal Navy destroyers, sub chasers and frigates that made their life a living hell. There was nothing that could be done about the flying hit men in the sky. That’s what the beacons where for. To guide our killer angels of death who would wipe the skies clean of our nemesis the submarine hunter aircraft. These little beacons out in the ocean will attract a hell of a lot of attention from both sides. They will be defended by our planes and attacked by the RAF. If they do not send enough attackers they will be overwhelmed. If they send many then they will be shot down by many more of ours.

Just like a sunken ship attracts all sorts of predators to feed on the various kinds of new life trying to find a place to reproduce and feed on its newly bare bones. These little beacons will attract many machines bent on killing each other. Machines full of men bent on each other’s destruction. This will be a major battle on the open ocean waged between our ships and planes and their ships and planes. Ours will be under and over the ocean. Thiers will be under, over and on the ocean. We will have the element of surprise and they will have the experience in this kind of warfare.

Our little Pe2s will be weighted down with extra fuel and our Seehunds and XXI submarines will be waiting in stealth mode, waiting for anyone to approach this harbinger of death. These small objects were much like the Sirens of Greek Mythology. They were calling in their prey with an irresistible cry, a pulsing signal that will possibly be irresistible to the Royal Navy. The object of this battle was not much larger than a 50 gallon drum and was mostly submerged. Very little was above the water… very little for such an expected reaction. The larger submarines would be rescuing our downed pilots and capturing or killing theirs. Protected by an air umbrella that would in turn be protecting their comrades. Protecting them until they were rescued by Soviet torpedo boats and the 16 XXI submarines lurking in the area. This was a perfect use for the possibly out dated Pe2s. There was nothing outdated by the bombs they carried. Easily large enough to sink a destroyer, frigate or sub chaser. The torpedoes carried by the IL 4s and submarines were for something larger if it dared to show up.

The Royal Navies aircraft that were expected to show up were not as advanced as the ones on land. The Brits could not spend the money or time to rebuild both land and sea planes to fighting trim and so the naval aircraft had been the last to be optimized. Their best models were not plentiful. Our fighters would be the best and most experienced. These battles in the ocean were to be the opening act and meant as a lesson. If the Royal Navy decided to leave the beacons along then they would continue to do their job switching frequencies to avoid being blocked by the British. If the beacons stood then the other attacks would begin. If they were attacked then the attackers would be the hunted. All the mighty preparations on land by the RAF would not assist their flyers over the ocean.

The Soviet planners believe that the Royal Navy will expect the beacons to be unguarded. For the next 6 hours they will be the most guarded objects that have ever floated in the Celtic and North Sea. Is the thousand plane raid using the beacons for directions of targets over the land or as a ruse to draw in the Royal Navy and its ships and planes? The answer depends on the reaction of the British. Force will be met with overwhelming force or the beacons will stay floating alone sending out their signal. Signals that the VVS will happily use to guide them to their targets on land.

Every Day

For the last week, thousands of Soviet bombers and fighters took off from the fields in Western Europe and crossed the English Channel and North Sea. The initial routes were decidedly predictable with the raids from the Brest area heading NNE towards Plymouth and then before crossing the channel veering away from British soil. The raids coming from Denmark started out almost due West and took divergent routes from there. There were two main routes feigned from Amsterdam and Dunkirk with one initially headed due west and the one from Dunkirk, which headed northwest. All had turned back before contact with the RAF and crossing over into British airspace.

On September 24th, it all changed. Homing beacons appeared in four separate areas of the seas surrounding Britain. The southernmost one started transmitting from the Celtic Sea. Another was off Ireland in the area known as Donegal Bay. Another was in the Shetland Trench off Scotland and the fourth in the North Sea. The Royal Navy was instantly alert, and the individual commands in their respective areas each decided how to react. The beacons started transmitting within minutes of each other and were extremely powerful and unmistakable in their intent. The timing was such that the daily raids were formed up and were heading in their usual directions.

The forces in the Celtic Sea reacted aggressively and started to send 4 squadrons of aircraft into the area along with two destroyers and 10 other smaller vessels, including five Frigates and the famous 2nd Support Group. Four of the Black Swan Class Sloops of the original 2nd Support Group that had sunk 22 U-boats in the last war were still looking for victims. The original sloops Starling, Wren, Cyngnet and Wild Goose were joined by the Flamingo, Magpie and Amethyst. These sloops were the most experienced sub hunters in the Royal navy. Although their commanders and crews had changed, their tenacity and training had not diminished. Already they sank three Soviet Seehunds, the most of any unit. Their commander of the group was puzzled at the audacity of the Soviet beacons but was determined to follow orders. The task force was ordered to silence the beacon, and to sink the submarines responsible. 2nd Support Group was the farthest from the beacons in the Irish Sea. It would take another 30 minutes for them to rendezvous with the other destroyers and frigates which were within 60 minutes of the beacon.

Two squadrons of Royal Navy Seafires were scrambled as well as two squadrons of Hawker Sea Furies and a squadron of submarine hunters. The distances involved for the British planes were 150 miles from their bases. The VVS southern raid, which normally turned away from British air space, kept going flying north in one massive cloud. Some of the Navies 4.5” guns got off some long-range volleys and did score a few hits but by and large, there were now 45 squadrons of fighters between the five Royal navy squadrons and home. The Hawker Sea Furies could have theoretically used their long-range and speed to out-maneuver the Soviets planes, but the Seafires were in trouble. They were slower and could not out climb the La7s that were vectoring in on them. The Hawker Sea Furies to a man decided to stay with their comrades and try to see them home.

The destroyer flotilla included the HMS Charity and Consort, both Class C British destroyers. Being closer to the beacons when they became active, they too were cut off from safety by the distances involved. The 2nd Support Group and all its famous sloops were ordered to return to port when it became apparent that the beacon was a possible ruse. Their commander, knowing the potential fate of the destroyers and other ships of the flotilla, claimed radio troubles and decided to add his AA guns to the fight. For its part, the RAF was concerned with the three other huge raids still circling over the channel and winging their way over the North Sea towards the Northern-most beacon. The Royal navy fleet command out of Scapa Flow already decided to let the beacons transmit as it saw what was transpiring down south in the Celtic Sea. The two beacons off Scotland and Ireland were silenced fairly quickly by physical attacks by aircraft. That left the two sending out steady signals and capable of guiding the Red Air Force to any target in Britain and safely home.

The RAF did not have enough units in the position to join in the Battle of the South Beacon. The large VVS raids in the air circling over France seemed to be waiting to see the reaction of the RAF to the beacons. Fighter Command decided to play it safe and let the RN take care of its own. No aircraft carriers were within range. The task force of small sub chasers and the two destroyers were in for the fight of their lives along with four Royal Navy fighter squadrons.

Using Us for Practice

The first Soviet VVS Pe 2 Buck dive bombers over the small convoy desperately trying to make its way back to port, took quite a beating. Out of the 23 planes that made the initial attacks, 5 were shot down and no hits were scored. The attack, however, caused the HMS DD Charity and HMS DD Consort to become separated as they twisted and turned obeying their commander’s orders, the orders that caused the destroyers to lurch to port and starboard in ever more erratic patterns trying to confuse the dive bombing Pe2s. It worked for a good 10 minutes and by then 2nd Support group and its five frigates were within 15 minutes of the destroyers and their smaller Corvettes of the Castle Class, the HMS Hadleigh Castle, HMS Lancaster Castle and HMS Bamborough Castle. The Corvettes were subsequently in trouble with swarms of Yak 9 UTs, who were firing their 37mm cannons from just out of the range of the 20 mm on the little ships. Each in turn was silenced quickly and for the most part, out of the fight fairly soon. At various times the DD Charity and DD Consort desperately tried to form up and give each other mutual support but the demands of dodging dive bombers and strafing ground attack aircraft drew them farther and farther apart and soon they were alone in their battles for survival.

The DD Consort was hit by a torpedo from a Soviet XXI submarine and was dead in the water and one by one her guns fell silent. She took four Pe2s with her in the end but was effectively out of the fight after 24 minutes of first contact. A floating and burning hulk, that for the most part, was ignored as the furious attacks continued on her sister ship the DD Charity.

The Charity seemed to live a charmed life. She did not shoot down that many more planes during the fight. Quite possibly because her captain made such violent maneuvers that her guns could not be brought to bear for long. In addition, the Pe2s that were diving on her were not your typical kamikaze planes who bore straight in. They twisted and turned throwing off the aim of the gunners and the shells propelled in their paths as they screamed down in their attacks from practically straight overhead. The 4.5” guns seem almost totally ineffective, and were almost useless once the dive bombers were overhead. They could only elevate to less than a 50 degree angle and the 40mm were little better at 55 degrees. That left the 20 mm guns alone to deal with the dive bombers and few were hit in their attack runs as they pulled up from their dives out of optimal range of 3,000 feet. If the destroyers were closer to each other, they could have covered each other from these kinds of attacks but alone the Charity was living on borrowed time and time that was running out. The Pe2s seemed to be almost taking bombing practice and making leisurely attacks from practically a straight down angle of up to 70 degrees. Fortunately for the Charity, they needed the practice.

Ten minutes before the frigates of the 2nd Support Group could reach effective support range the Charity’s fate took a turn for the worst. One of the Soviet’s flight leaders properly timed the Charity’s captain’s last evasive maneuver and his BETAB-170DS rocket assisted bomb hit the destroyer amid ships. His wingman hit her near the stern and she stopped dead in the water in less than a minute. The Captain of the Charity, in one of his last signals warned off 2nd Support Group and ordered them to take evasive action and turn for home. The attacking planes seemed to not be aware of the frigates and left them alone. Their sights were now set on the five squadrons of Royal Navy aircraft trying to fight their way home.

Upon hearing of their predicament the two squadrons of Sea Furies took top cover over their slower two squadrons of Seafires. They decided to head due East and try to fight their way through using the shortest route to safety. By heading straight East and going through the teeth of the enemy’s strength the Seafires had about 30 minutes of additional time to dogfight before they reached bingo fuel and had to head for home. There had been a short debate as to whether they should use that extra range to try to outrun the cloud of Soviet aircraft, but it was unanimously decided to fight straight through or die trying.

The Sea Furies would attempt to boom and zoom the Soviet fighters sure to be on the tails of the Sea Fires. This meant that the more powerful and faster Sea Furies would stay at a high level until they spotted one of their fellow airmen in trouble and would boom down from above and attempt to break up the attack. After a diving attack they would zoom back up to a higher altitude and attempt to do it again. Planes with more powerful engines and better power to weight ratios have been doing this to slower more maneuverable antagonists ever since aerial warfare was invented. One of the best planes at this tactic was the P-38 twin boom lightning, which had cleared the skies over the Pacific despite having two engines and was almost twice the size of the Zero fighter it faced. It accomplished this feat by booming from a high altitude and then zooming away. Most NATO aircraft at this stage of the war used this tactic against their opponents. Only the Spitfire and Seafire of the British would still attempted to turn and burn with certain of their enemies.

If the numbers had not been so overwhelming the story might have been different. After first contact, most of the RAF fighters found themselves alone without a wingman and in combat against 5 or more enemy fighters. Ironically the few who did escape did so because the Soviet fighters kept getting in each other’s line of fire and trying to steal the “kill” from their comrades… and kill they did. 30 Seafires started out the fight with only 5 coming back. The Sea Furies did better with 10 of the 24 surviving. Two VVS Yak 3s collided trying to get on the tail of one of the surviving Seafires and 2 more were shot down mostly by having the unlucky experience of ending up in front of the same Sea Fury’s four 20mm cannons within seconds of each other. The lucky pilot who got two kills in 10 seconds died seconds later and no one is sure which pilot it was. It was a devastating loss of 35 planes in a matter of minutes. Luckily, the waters of the Irish Sea still held some warmth from the Gulf Current and five pilots were rescued before hypothermia set in.

Some measure of revenge was extracted up north. The fleet out of Scapa Flow did not take the bait and waited until after the Northern Soviet air armada had departed back to base. A flotilla of Corvettes and night flying sub hunter aircraft arrived near the beacon and waited. After several hours of darkness five Seehund mini subs which had been part of the trap, surfaced in the area.

They had run out of battery power and oxygen and were forced to surface and having a limited range of only 63 km submerged and a speed of three knots they were still in the area of the beacon. The radar of the Corvettes picked them up and the sub hunter aircraft sunk 3 of them in a night action attack.

Eye Witness Report Battle of the Beacons

Sept. 25th, 1946

By Wayne Pierre Sub-Lieutenant HMS Charity

1. At about 0655, numerous enemy planes were contacted by our instruments as coming towards the ship from the East, distance about 55 miles. Four Squadrons of fighters were ordered to intercept.

2. At about 0655 the entire Combat Air Patrol was ordered out in different formations to intercept and engage the overwhelming number of enemy planes closing in on us. They were so busy that they could not send us reports but we intercepted their communications. It sounded like they themselves had been caught in a trap. EO reported that there were no friendly planes within 15 km of this ship.

3. From this time on the Charity and the Consort were attacked continuously by numerous enemy aircraft coming at us in groups of 9 to 12 planes on each ship. For the most part, they were dive bombers. The Corvettes themselves were all under attack as well.

4. The tempo of the engagement and the maneuver of the two destroyers at high speed was such as to cause the Charity and the Consort to be separated by distances as much as two and three miles. This resulted in individual action by both ships. Three times the Consort suggested to the Charity that they close for mutual support and efforts were made to achieve this but each time the attacks prevented the ships from closing each other. The Charity closed the four small support ships several times during the engagement.

5. From 0730 to 0800, the Charity was attacked by groups of planes coming in on both bows. Three enemy planes were shot down by the Charity’s guns during this period, at times firing all guns in-various directions. The Consort, which at this time was at a distance of about three miles to the northward, was seen fighting off a number of planes by herself, several of which were seen to be destroyed. At 0800, the Consort was hit by a torpedo and all her guns put out of action by attacking aircraft. At one time toward the close of the battle when friendly planes were closing to assist us, the three support ships were prevented from shooting down two friendlies whom they had taken under fire. One plane was seen to splash inside their formation due to their own gunfire. However, I am not able to give an accurate account of their action. They were very helpful in picking up my crew who were in the water, in coming alongside and removing wounded and in helping us to pump.

6. From this time on, the Charity received the bulk of the attacks and action became furious with all guns firing at planes on all sides of the ship. The EO reported that the radar scope was filled with enemy planes. The Commanding Officer saw that the situation was becoming too much for one ship to handle and he requested that the Combat Air Patrol to close the formation and assist us. With outstanding courage, our planes fearlessly closed the ships and attacked enemy planes. They achieved great results and when the Charity was finally helpless in the water, our crew was sparked with renewed courage by the sight of our airmen trying to drive off the remaining enemy aircraft.

7. For 10 minutes the Charity fought off the enemy single handed, being separated from the Consort, which was out of action, by three miles and from the four small support ships by two miles. Finally, at 0920, ten enemy planes which had surrounded the Charity, four on the starboard bow under fire by the main battery and machine guns, four on the port bow under fire by the forward machine guns, and two astern under fire by the after machine guns, attacked the ship simultaneously. As a result of this attack, the Charity was (1) hit by a bomb aft (2) by a bomb amid ships.

8. The ship was badly holed and immediately both engine rooms and one fire room were flooded and the ship settled down and listed rapidly. All 4.5-inch guns were out of action, a fire was raging aft of number two stack, ammunition was exploding, and the entire ship was engulfed in a thick black smoke which forced the crew to seek safety, some by jumping over the side, others by crowding forward and awaiting orders. The ship was helpless to defend herself and at this time the situation appeared hopeless. The Commanding Officer received reports from the Chief Engineer and the Damage Control Officer who indicated that the main spaces were flooded and that the ship was rapidly developing into a condition which would capsize her. The exploding ammunition and the raging fire appeared to be extremely dangerous. The engineers were securing the forward boilers to prevent them from blowing up. The order “Prepare to abandon Ship” was given and life rafts and floats were put over the side. A party of about fifty men and officers was being organized to make a last fight to save the ship and the remainder of the crew and the wounded were put over into the water.

9. From this point on, a truly amazing, courageous and efficient group of men and officers with utter disregard for their own personal safety approached the explosions and the fire with hoses and for fifteen minutes kept up this work. The torpedoes were jettisoned, weights removed from the starboard side, and finally the fire was extinguished and the list and flooding controlled and the ship was saved. Although the ship was still in an extremely dangerous condition, one fire room bulkhead held and she was finally towed safely.

10. The total number of enemy planes destroyed by the Charity in this period of one hour and thirty-five minutes of continuous firing was 17.

HMS Charity

Chapter Fifteen:

The Second Battle of Britain

VVS MiG 9 Fargos mix it up with an RAF Meteor over the Channel

* * *

A battle of acumen and resolve begins

* * *

September 26, 1946

The next morning beacons were again placed in locations similar to the others. The VVS waited circling to see the reaction from the Royal Navy and Royal Air Force. They waited by streaming towards their usual points of return. They headed on the same routes taken day after day, waiting by moving towards their points of departure, points of departure that could lead into the airspace of the British Isles, points of departure that would begin the battle in earnest.

On the morning of Sept. 26th, there was no reaction from the Royal Navy and the Royal Air Force and the VVS did not turn back from its familiar course. The beacons sent out their signal long and strong.

The Second Battle of Britain began. At no time has such a mass of planes filled such a small area. Not at any time had four 1,000 plane raids simultaneously entered combat before. Never had an air force placed so many engines of destruction over so small a land mass. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide for the people of the British Isles. All that was left to do was to fight… and fight they did.

Day One

Adam was witnessing an odd sight, waves of planes flying not in the usual V or Box or even Finger Four formation but in kind of a school of fish formation. He did not have firsthand knowledge or had ever seen a Soviet bomber or even fighter before, but here they were in the hundreds, droning overhead in their odd formation going much faster than the US and RAF heavy bombers. They were traveling closer to the speed of the few Mosquito formations he had seen. He had joined the Anti-Aircraft regiment after the Blitz and had not seen many large formations of similar German medium bombers. The numbers were staggering and disconcerting.

He had read that the largest daylight raid ever mounted by the Luftwaffe was around 800 planes during the first Battle of Britain… First Battle of Britain. He could never in his wildest imagination think that he would utter or even think that phrase, yet here it was. This was of course the second day of raids. That first couple of raids a week ago decimated the airfields and maintenance units used to repair RAF planes. It was a stunning success for the VVS or Red Air Force. Hundreds if not a thousand repairable planes laid to waste and ruin. Then came the debacle over the beacons.

From what he was observing this raid was starting out like the other ones. He could not imagine why they would once again hit the same targets. From what he understood they were decimated. So his thinking was that something else was in store for the RAF. His 3.7” gun was ready for action. Screw the German 88 this baby hit just as hard. Cases of the super accurate VT proximity fuses were ready to be mated with the 3.7” shells. The VT fuse possibly stood for Veritable Time fuse. This more commonly called proximity fuse exploded when it even got near an enemy plane. It increased the accuracy of an anti-aircraft shell by a factor of at least three and certain circumstances seven. It was a nasty piece of work and some say responsible for decimating the Japanese Kamikaze effort. The factor of seven comes into play when a plane is coming straight at you or on an easily determent course. Most Kamikazes came right at you or at your buddies without deviation. The factor or three came into play when a plane was dodging around and not flying straight.

They did not have much practice with the shell towards the end of the war and even now only a few shots here and there until today. Today they would be using a lot of them; he was sure. There was not a real shortage but a shipment of close to a million fuses when down from a lucky hit by one of those midget submarines he heard.

His friends in the Navy had told him that the Seehund Soviet style midget submarine was a really hard nut to crack. Too small to show up on most sonar yet capable of sinking a good size freighter, it was something to be reckoned with and a lot of resources were being spent in defeating it, so far with not much luck. This meant that the loss of those million fuses prevented much of the usual practice with them. They fired hundreds of practice shots with un-fused shells. The theory was that if you could come close or even hit the towed targets with a regular fuse then using a VT fuse would be almost like cheating.

From what he observed from afar, the Soviet bomber formations where a kind of like a swarm or ball of their medium bombers staying as close as possible to what looked like an American B25. They appeared to be just out of 40 mm Bofers range but easily within altitude range of his 3.7”. The action was going to be hot and furious today; he could feel it. The AA batteries were set up in the usual formation with a central command unit and radiating batteries of guns, 3.7” guarded by 40 mm Bofers, in turn guarded by 20 mm and finally heavy machine guns. They were unusually close together. The theory being, that with the VT fuse they would be safer if closely guarding each other at their optimum range rather than spread out. Furthermore, the high and mighty had decided that the target of the Soviet Red Air Force would be the fighters and their airfields. Believing that the Soviets had learned their lessons, they were sure that the Soviets knew how close the Germans had come to defeating the RAF in the First Battle of Britain by attacking the airfields.

Many a paper and memo had been written about the fact that the RAF was almost out of planes and trained pilots at one point during the first battle and would have been defeated if the Germans had not been tricked into ignoring Fighter Command, ignoring them just long enough for them to catch their breath and then to tear into the German bomber formations once again with a vengeance. This broke the spirit of the German command and pilots.

They remembered how they themselves, had defeated the superior speed and firepower of the first German jets by catching them while they attempted to land and take off. This was the only time when they were vulnerable to the slower Allied fighters. The Germans countered by concentrating flak batteries around the airfields used by the jets and it was very effective but not effective enough. The Germans did not have the VT fuse. We did.

The concentrated firepower, superior fire direction of our radar directed guns and the VT fuse promised a safe haven for our little returning friends from Fighter Command and a hot reception to any VVS scum who tried to enter our airspace. Flak Traps were the common name for what we had set up around the various airfields. Killing zones was another term. Curtains of lead came to mind as well. The amount of concentrated firepower is truly amazing. It was felt that the Soviets could not effectively bomb cities, so they had to concentrate on the air fields and the fighters based within. With their new-found range thanks to the use of external fuel tanks and overwhelming odds, it was certain that they could loiter just out of range waiting for returning planes. Even an SU 2 medium bomber, code named Bat, could easily shoot down the best RAF fighter pilot in the newest Spitfire if that pilot was out of fuel and attempting to land or take off. Just as it had been the case when many a German ace flying the Me262 had fallen to lessor pilots in lessor planes while vulnerable. Not very sporting but this war was far from a sport.

With our superior fire control, VT fuse and concentrated firepower, we would be ready to defend our little friends when they came back from a hard day’s work. There was a nagging thought in his mind, however. Is it wise to rely on the lessons of the last war? Could not the enemy adapt if he knew your tactics? He had heard that they were outnumbered 5 to one. In the first Battle of Britain it was about 1 and a half to one. Well, what did he know? He was just a gun pointing piece of the grand puzzle that was going to save Britain once again.

The Attack on the Airfields

First they flew over in that weird ball shaped formation. We laid into them with our massed 3.7 inchers. 3.7 inchers armed with VT fuses. There was no shortage of fuses now. Fire, eject, load aim fire, load eject aim fire… his crew were like robots in a Charlie Chaplain movie. Shot after shot left his muzzle. Something was wrong. The shells seemed to be exploding much too soon and way below the massed balls of bombers. He could see as they passed overhead that it was not a true ball but more like a semi sphere with well-defined spaces for the bombs to fall and not hit the planes below, pretty clever these Ivans. The semi spheres were staggered and some of the bombs that dropped were slowed down by parachutes. Others fell straight and were dropped from a lower altitude.

He braced for the impacts. As the first bombs hit the ground, they exploded as expected but the ones attached to parachutes hit and formed huge clouds of smoke. They were 1000 pounders and spewed a lot of smoke for what turned out to be a longtime. Everyone scrambled for their gas masks.

The ones who forgot or couldn’t find theirs waited for death to come and watched in terror as the clouds reach out for them. Fingers of dense smoke marched towards them carried on the weak winds of the day. Everyone held their breath and a few of the unfortunate ones without gas masks panicked and started to run. Everyone expected the worst as the clouds reached their stumbling mates… the worst didn’t happen. Their mates kept running even after breathing in lungful’s of what appeared to be poisoned gas.

It was a smoke screen… just an old-fashioned smoke screen![31]

A few of the runners shouted for joy as the others in their gas masks yelled as best they could, with the contraptions attached to their faces. A few of the runners sheepishly started to feel their way back to their duty stations. They had no fear that their fellow crew mates would be angry or consider them cowards. They would, however, get a real ribbing for not having their gas masks along.

Then they heard the next wave of planes approaching. These were low and fast. Single engine planes from the sound of them. They couldn’t see shit. The radar directors were pretty much useless at this altitude and the 20 mm and heavy machine guns were not tied to them for the most part. Eric remembered thinking that if he couldn’t see them, then they couldn’t see him. The 3.7” could still fire at the higher flying bomber stream because of the radar and were ordered to fire blind with their aim being controlled.

Before the smoke blotted out the sun, he could see that the only planes that were being damaged and shot down by the 3.7“ shells were the ones who had strayed or were on the very edge of the formations and even then they were few and far between. He had noticed that the fuses were not in the best of shape. Some smelled moldy and musty like his grandmother’s basement.30 He couldn’t worry about that now… fire, eject, load, fire… no aiming anymore… fire, eject, load, fire. Then the other planes were on top of them. The 40mm, 20mm and heavy machine guns fired blindly in the general direction of the noise. He vaguely wondered about the engines of the Russian planes. They definitely had a different sound to them, not any more powerful or even weaker sounding, just different.

Then he felt the first heat wave coming from his left. Something exploded and was pouring out heat like a ship on fire. It must have been a fuel storage unit, but there were none that close by. The engineers wouldn’t be that stupid. Damn that was hot. He had never felt anything that hot. Then the radar director link malfunctions. The smoke was still blinding and he sent Billy to see where the cable had been cut. Billy never came back. He never even found Billy or his body. He did hear him scream when another explosion and heat wave swept over them.

More explosions and waves of heat all around him. What he thought was a human being came rushing at them totally aflame from head to foot. It was not making a sound just walking fast, its flesh dripping off it as it was slowly consumed in fire. After about 5 more steps, it collapsed and a new horror caught his attention. A small bomblet bounced around at his feet. This one did not explode but the ones farther to the right did, cutting Ferguson in half, Jones’s legs off and causing Williams to lose his head.

The shock of what was happening was complete all he could do was to stand there paralyzed as horror after horror appeared out of the smoke and flames. One after another they appear, the headless this, an armless that, a screaming torch of fire, a whimpering legless head and torso dragging itself with one arm. Horror after horror struck his all-seeing eyes. He didn’t even think he blinked for what seemed like hours. He couldn’t move and he couldn’t look away. He always remembered thinking that he could be at least helping some of these apparitions. Helping to drag them to wherever they were going or possibly attempting to put out the fires immolating them. It was like your standard nightmare where you can’t move as the monster or horror comes running at you. All you can do is watch, watch with unblinking eyes. Watch as your friends died horrible deaths all around you. Deaths that only Dante could imagine or that only humans invent for each other. Nothing else in nature could do this to any other creature much less to its own species. Any other species would be wiped out by Darwin’s law if they did this to each other but not Homo sapiens.

More small explosions and shrapnel everywhere as those smaller bomblets exploded by the thousands, then he caught a glimpse through the smoke of what was causing the heat he was feeling. About a hundred yards to his right, he had a fleeting yet perfect view of a hunched back ugly looking Russian plane spewing liquid flame from twin pods on either wing. He remembered thinking… So the bastards have their own form of napalm. Napalm a horrible invention by the Yanks if you were on the receiving end.

This thought brought him back to his senses and got him running, running for his life. As he looked back at what had been a mighty flack trap all he saw was flames and smoke. Nothing moved except the boiling pillars of flames appearing here and there above the choking clouds of smoke. He never did see the cessation of the smoke screen. He just ran and ran and ran. He finally ended up miles away in a ditch next to a stream bed. That gradually turned from pink to red. The stream ran through part of the air field complex right near where his gun emplacement was. He knew things were getting bad when he actually started to fill his canteen with the reddest of trickles with the full intent of going back and putting it into the lifeless body of Roger. Roger who he watched slowly bleed to death from a very small wound in his belly. Very little from the front but when Roger finally fell over from his kneeling position, it was very large from the back. Here you go old Roger, all you need is a little fill me up. Drink up now and all will be right. Drink up and we’ll go have that pint I owe you. Drink up and we’ll talk about the Williams sisters and how we’re going to get them drunk and screw them. Drink up and all will be right with the world.

They eventually did find him near the creek walking back and forth between a body and the creek pouring blood tinted water down its throat. The pink colored water would go down through the mouth and out a large hole in the back of the body of Roger Peters. Eric must have poured a hundred gallons of water through the body before they found him.

Next Spring what would become the largest willow tree currently in Amesbury proper took root on the exact spot where all that pink colored water had made a small puddle. The airfield at Boscombe Down ceased to function. Without anti-aircraft defenses, it became a death trap for any RAF plane attempting to land. Anything that moved in the area was slaughtered that day and for the following weeks. It might as well have been an ancient field of battle full of the dead and dying.

The willow that grew created shade for the cemetery that eventually appeared. Unofficially a number of unidentified bodies were laid to rest over the coming weeks and months. Never again was the air field used to launch planes into the air. Although many other fields were hit that day this one was damaged the worst and was continuously attacked when attempts were made to use it again. Over the course of the Second Battle of Britain it was visited almost daily by the VVS and anything that was put in place to defend the area was immediately attacked. In large parts of Britain, the RAF had lost control of their skies much like the Luftwaffe lost control of German skies in 1944.

IL10 Beast Pilot 2nd day of Attack

IL 10 Pilot

2nd Day of the Attack

Near Boscom

The wind had shifted for a minute and the Bofors could see their targets. The machine guns did not have much effect on the IL10 Beast but the 40mm Bofors did and the three that were free from the smoke took down four of the squadron in quick order. On the next pass the smoke was behaving much better and revenge was in order. Ah, the never ending cycle of revenge. You killed my brother in arms and now I will kill yours or you. An eye for an eye and a horrid death for an excruciating one. The Beasts in this squadron were caring the pods that spewed flame. Dropping their external fuel tanks after they got an extra 200 miles range from them, they were free of that burden. They then scorched the earth in V shaped formations spewing flame and death. They came back and waited for the smoke to clear to finish any survivors off and to catch any RAF planes foolish enough to try and land while they were still making their circle of death runs. The circle of death was a technique use on the Eastern Front with Beast after Beast following each other looking for targets of opportunity and then taking a wide turn and doing it again. It was similar to a flock of vultures but with a human brain and a little choreographing at work.

In the “Circle of Death” attack, a Sturmovik group would flank around the enemy and then peel off successively, each Il-2 making a shallow diving attack, then pulling up and around for another pass. The beauty of the Circle of Death was that it kept the enemy under continuous fire for as long as the aircraft had fuel and ammunition. Even when the smoke clear for a short period, of time the attacks were continuous, with no respite for the AA gunners and loaders.

The 280 2.5kg PTAP bomblets contained internally had been very effective as well and destroyed quite a wide path of soft targets. Targets made out of things like flesh and bone. Thank or curse Mr. Shrapnel depending on if you were giving or receiving for his contribution to the art of war. The current PTAP could penetrate 70mm of armor so the tin and wood coverings placed over installations and control rooms and targeting radar are no match for them.

The four 23mm cannons took care of many of the rest of the targets at the airfield. Not much can hide from that kind of fire power. The RAF or any of the NATO forces had never experienced their own creation… napalm. The Soviet version was very similar and just as deadly killing with excruciating pain if death does not occur instantly. The arms race continues with more and more deadly and horrible ways to kill each other. It appears to be a never ending cycle for human beings. At least the males of the species.

How many of those pilots, gunners and ground personnel being killed that day had children or even infants. Some might have newborns. They would die and were dying for those children yet they were willing to kill other fathers and mothers as well as other children in the belief that they were protecting their own.

What an absurd way of thinking. What an absurd way to live. What an absurd way to continue a species thought Yuri. I’m told by my leaders that if I don’t kill them… the enemies men, women and even children, that my women and children will perish. This is just plain crazy. Yet here I am following orders and spewing death on men just like me who have children and who honestly believe that by killing me they are saving something near and dear to their hearts. Would I kill them if they were not trying to kill me? Of course not. I rather liked the Americans and Limeys I met near the end of the war. Yet here I am burning possibly one of those men to death and all because he is trying to kill me and because someone down there killed Ari. When does it stop? When are the scales balanced… not today!

Double Down

John Dunellen was a double ace and he was in deep shit. He was slowly gaining distance from the pack of Yak 9s chasing him but he was running out of time and space. His wingman and squadron mates had been separated during takeoff. It was hard to take off when Tu2s Bats were circling overhead and just waiting for you to show yourself. It was almost impossible to count on a safe haven to refuel and rearm. The anti-aircraft guns had gone silent one by one. The Soviets had targeted them specifically before they even attacked the planes on the ground landing or taking off. Their main focus for the first week had been the guns and gunners. They had died by the thousands. Horrible deaths and now many airfields throughout Britain were defenseless. Defenseless from marauding flying tanks and medium bombers loaded down with all manner of mayhem.

Dunellen tried something new this time he came back to the airfield with a third of a tank. He pretended that he was getting ready to land and waited for the Tu2 Bat to lumber on to his tail then he gunned it and turned inside the medium bomber and caught him with a deflection shot from his 20mm cannons. The bomber went down in a satisfying fireball. But he then found himself low and slow with three Yak 9s were on him like white on rice.

Dunellen was good. You don’t get to be a double ace in a ten day period if you aren’t good. He kept the Yaks at bay for another 10 minutes. Twisting and turning, dipping and weaving even a few barrel rolls. No one did barrel rolls anymore so maybe that’s why they worked.

He knew if he flew straight for even a few seconds he was dead. All the twisting and turning made it impossible for him to gain altitude and to use the superior straight line speed his Spit possessed. While fighting for his life he saw his precious fuel being burned at a prodigious rate. He could even feel it. His plane became more responsive the lighter it got. The lighter it got the closer he was to death. Then the first cough happened.

It happened on a hard turn to the right. It was a real tight turn and almost caused him to black out. He would have got the Yak 9 with the 14 little swastikas on the side if he had been able to stay in the turn but the Yak’s wingman was doing his job and he had to break off the turn. The wingman’s 20mm cannon round took off the tip of his right wing. No harm no foul at this height. If his opponents had been Yak 3s he would have not made it this far. The Yak 3 could outturn even a Spitfire. Against the Yak 9 the best pilot would have won. Against 3 Yak 9s all bets were off.

Then his engine coughed again and this time he was not in a tight turn. But he had to turn to avoid the tracers coming from the Russian aces plane. His luck ran out and his skill could no longer defy physics. The air flow over his laminar flow wings could no longer create the lift needed to keep the 2400 odd kilograms of aluminum in the air. In the last seconds of his life just before the Spitfire hit the ground and exploded something caught his eye for a moment.

It was a very little boy standing among some wreckage calmly waving at him. He had no pants on and looked like he had never been washed. Time froze as they stared at each other for a fleeting moment. Their eyes locked and he though, what was a little boy doing here surrounded by all this death? It made him think of his own family. Dunnellon’s last thought was of his new born daughter’s smile. Not a bad thought to die on.

Where’s Mum

The boy watched the sky in awe. He was mesmerized by the swirling machines with winking lights in their nose and wings. When they came close to the ground and the flashes came from the wings there would be little explosions on the ground ahead of the plane, little explosions that where linked back to the plane by fiery trails. It was wonderful to watch and he was enthralled. He had been doing it for days between finding food to eat and sleeping. The area he was in seemed to be teaming with planes whirling and turning after each other and occasionally crashing with great noise and fireworks. It was wonderful… just wonderful and thrilling to his 3 year old eyes.

He really missed his Mum and never knew his dad. Just the men his Mum would bring home. Many of them were nice and if they were not Mum would make them leave. They brought him treats and that was nice.

At first the noisy crashes were scary but now he looked forward to them. A few had happened very close and one has sent noisy pieces of the plane spinning around him. He was nicked once by a small piece and had cried when he saw the blood. He really missed Mum then and had cried for a long time. He has no idea of time and as long as he had water and could still find the food that was in the building close by all he could do was to play by himself and watch the wonderful show going on all around him.

If he could count he would have known that he has seen 12 planes crash within a mile of where he was. 12 brave pilots much like the men who had visited his mother had died as his mother had died. Her body had saved his life as well as almost taken it. It had taken him quite a while to finally wiggle his way out from under her protective form. Once he had done that he could wander around and find the food and water his body craved.

He had long since taken off his pants and went poopoo and peepee wherever he wanted. His poop hole was kind of sore but not always painful and he could forget how much it hurt when he watched the planes.

The big guns on the ground that used to shoot at the planes had been silent for days now. The planes with the red markings had dropped things on them and used their winking wings to make them explode in awe inspiring explosions. Sometimes after the explosions men cried out, some far into the night. Curious he went over to what was once a man, but was now a smoking pile with a head and eyes. The mouth had stopped making a wailing noise and the eyes had looked at him in wonder as it tried to detach what might have been an arm and hand to touch him. Then it collapsed in a pile like his Mum, and stopped moving… they always stopped moving.

The fiery smears of flames that engulfed large areas, were his favorite. His hearing had been severely damaged but he could still hear them when they spread their beautiful warmth and fire filled clouds over huge areas that once contained men. These flame clouds had kept him warm enough during the night. They set things on fire and he would stand or lie near them far into the night. It was cold at night.

A couple of times men had tried to come to him but had been damaged and cut down by the circling planes and their winking wings. After a while no one seemed to care and he was alone in his playground of smoke, flames, explosions and the dead.

He could not go near his Mum any more. She had started to stink and then an explosion had taken her away. She had peed and pooped in her clothes while he was under her and he had asked her why she could do that without getting put in a corner when he could not, but she had not answered. Her eyes eventually turned dead and her body cold and he knew he had to leave her. He was very thirsty and hungry when he had finally wiggled out from under her.

He guessed he was a big boy now. He remembered the other big boys in his neighborhood could run around all day without their moms always keeping watch over them. His Mum did not watch over him anymore so he must be a big boy. He cried every so often and wished she was here to watch over him again. He did not like being a big boy all the time. He missed her. He missed her so much.

No one would ever know why he and his mom were there near the airfield. In years to come when they excavated the grave site they were shocked to find the remains of such a small child. He had only 6 more hours to live but he did not know that and was getting excited as another bunch of whirling planes caught his eye and he watched in fascination as three of the red marked planes tried to stay on the tail of the green plane with the circles on its wings. He knew they were circles. His Mum had taught him that.

Just before the green plane crashed into the ground it came very close to him and he saw the pilots face staring in wonder at him as he waved. He had a nice face. He wished that he was his father. The last six hours and 3 minutes of his life were like the last 3 days or so. He ate some food, played with some interesting pieces of metal, went to the puddle and drank some water, cried a few times in loneliness and then wandered into an area he had never been before. He fell into a large pit and never regained consciousness. That’s where all the other bodies were eventually put in temporary graves. His mother and the pilot of the plane that he waved at were put in the pit as well. One small pile of what was humanity waiting to be discovered and separated into still other holes in the ground. As we all know they are just bodies and not the real person.

His body was never identified and his remains were placed in an unmarked grave. There should have been no one to even remember his name or that he have once existed. Yet there was one. A secretary who had helped deliver him when she had heard his mother crying next door. Out he came before the doctor could get there. It was all she could to hang on to him he cried so loudly. She was going through some old records and getting ready to store them when she remembered the little boy being born to that young girl. Pretty hard to forget that. He had such a smile. Most newborns don’t smile. He did from the get go. She was sure that she would see him in the films. His smile was so dazzling even as a newborn.

His name was Jeremy. He stood out so vividly in her mind. She was 7 months pregnant and just then decided to name her baby Jeremy if it was a boy. Jeremy Beadle… now that had a nice ring to it.

The Boy

Bill couldn’t believe his eyes. What was a little kid doing out here. For God’s sake this is crazy. Where’s his mother.

“Stop watching that child Bill and concentrate on your loading mate.”

“But Charlie he’s all alone… he’s crying and wounded. We have to help him! He’s going to die out there, we have to do something.”

“For Christ sake keep loading or we’re all dead including the boy!”

“There has to be something we can do… look at him he’s bleeding… he’s hurt and scared. He’s terrified we have to do something. We just have…”

“We’re out! Bloody hell we’re out! Alright let’s go then… we aren’t doing any good with an empty gun. Let’s go.”

Charlie is cut in two before Bill’s eyes and he just stares uncomprehending and then turns and jumps the gun emplacement sand bag wall and starts to sprint towards the boy. All he can think of is getting to him and bringing him to safety. He hears the sound of the engine and knows that a Sturmovik is coming in for a run at his former gun emplacement. He even hears the click of the bomb being released. A wave of heat washes over him but he is on the edge of the napalms impact zone and only his legs beneath his knees are engulfed in searing pain. He is knocked down and tries to get up but his lower legs are missing and then the pain hits. The second Sturmovik’s run splashes him with napalm again.

Splashes is probably not the right term for something that is a liquid flame that does incredible damage to the human body and soul of those who witness it and those who inflict it on others. This little splash, for wont of a better word, of this viscous, liquid flame hits his upper torso as he is struggling to remove his helmet. When the splash of napalm hits it is splashed further and lands on just a couple of patches on his left and right side. He drops his arms and they become welded to his body. This douses the flame but not before his arms are pinned. He finally starts to scream. He screams for what seems like hours and then something gets through the pain. Something cuts right though his agony. It is the little boy and he is standing by him and watching him.

He tries to detach his right arm from his body and rips a pound of flesh from his side. He is so intent on reaching the boy that he feels nothing. He reaches out but then his muscles fail him. They become detached from their bony anchor and finally the pain becomes too much and shock sets in. He collapses and he dies staring at the little boy who in turn is staring at him.

Tape Recordings from Great Britain #23

Believed to be produced near the end of September in 1946 in the north of Britain.

The reel to reel tape hisses as you listen to the playback. The voices sound like they are coming from the bottom of a well. There is a slight echo in the room used for the interview. There are over a hundred of these interviews still surviving. The identity of the interviewer has not been accurately determined as yet.

“Test… test…

Thank you for speaking with us Mr. Mudd.”

“Well you asked me too didn’t yea.”

“Let’s get to it then…”

“Where you involved in the fighting this month?”

“Why of course I was. Why are we doing this taping if I wasn’t?”

“What was the closest you came to dying during the third war?”

“Come-on now Brian you know very well where it was. You were there too.”

“This is supposed to be like an interview Bob. You have to pretend you don’t know me…”

“Oh alright then… I was driving a lorry with you… er my mate Brian. We had planned to make two runs that day to Coventry carrying petrol in the lorry, one during the day and one during the night. We figured the Reds had run their course and after taking out the near-by airfields they wouldn’t be roaming around anymore. Then we heard it.”

“What was that you heard?”

“One of them twin engine jobs. The ones that should have been shot out of the sky and not roaming around free as you please. We had just stopped and lit up a fag away from the truck. You don’t want to be smoking in a petrol lorry you see. Anyway we heard it pretty far off. You get to know the sound of your enemy pretty quickly. I was going to get back to the lorry and move it under some trees when the bastard spotted us and bore right in without a care in the world. He didn’t even use the rockets he had under his wings he just casually shot the lorry to pieces and lite it on fire. A couple of explosions later and “Bob’s your uncle” the lorry was gone along with our means of employment.”

“Were you hurt?”

“Not at all and neither was you. I mean… no we had gotten away from the petrol when we saw him lining up on us and dove for cover. He wasn’t interested in us… just the petrol and he got it all. I guess this is how the Jerrys must have felt near the end when they didn’t have any more planes to protect them and the Yanks and our boys just roamed free shooting up anything that was moving during the day. I guess what that tells us is that we are in a similar situation after a month of these attacks. Imagine they have enough planes to roam around even in areas that they have already shot up. Enough planes to just go where you will and shoot up anything on the ground worth the bullets. Now I know how the Germans felt near the end.”

“And how was that.”

“They must have felt kind of hopeless. Kind of like it’s getting near time to quit and end this. That we’re defenseless… utterly defenseless.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“Turn it off now will yeah Brian. I’m done talking for now.”

“Sure thing Bob… sure thing.”

Hap

General “Hap” Arnold paced around the room. All eyes were glued to his unwavering pace as he strode from one side of the room to the other then abruptly turned and headed back to the other wall. He had not been feeling well but this new challenge seemed to invigorate him. He was thinking just before his staff came with the latest news about the Second Battle of Britain. One more job to do before I retire, was his general thought pattern. He was day dreaming about that retirement when they knocked on the door of his office. It was a nice office but not too ornate. Nothing like Ike’s .

The news he had been given was going to require an immediate decision. One that could win or lose this newest war. Well that’s why they paid him the big bucks as he overheard someone say a while ago. Kenney was nominally in-charge of SAC but he was the one who had to deal with this information and he was the one who had to tell Kenny to start the countdown or not.

Much like Ike’s D-Day decision this one would probably win or lose the war. He had none of Ike’s negotiating powers or even a modicum of political savvy. He just got the job done. That’s why he supposed he survived several career destroying episodes concerning his unwavering support for Billy Mitchell, his being labeled a drunkard and his run ins with Morgenthau and by extension Roosevelt himself. Somehow his talents always won him a second/third and even forth chance.

The news he had to act on consisted of three reports. One: stating that the RAF was on its last week or two of existence. Two: the VVS has committed all the planes they were going to commit to their attack on Britain and the odds will never be greater for success in attacking the Soviet Bear where it counted. Three: General Kenny reported that he could be minimally operational in 7 days and could in theory carry out the attacks that SAC was designed to accomplish.

Minimally operational… what the hell did that mean? Kenney had been so brilliant in the Pacific. Was this new concept beyond his reach? Was he too tactically orientated? Had he been elevated beyond his abilities? Too god damn late to change horses in mid-stream now. LeMay would have been the better choice but you had to go with the horse you rode in on or some such lame excuse. It really was too late to change commandeers. Wait that was not the correct word.

All of these thoughts were rampaging through his brain when things started to get all jumbled up. He couldn’t think straight. All he could do was to keep pacing back and forth even that was getting more and more difficult. SHIT! he was having another heart attack or stroke. Shit!… what was he thinking so hard about… why was he walking back and forth? Who were these people and why were they looking at him? Why couldn’t he move his left arm. Oh hell here it came… THE PAIN the all too familiar PAIN! He had to fight through this and make some kind of decision… but what about. It was all he could do to keep from falling down.

“Hap… you okay?! JEESUS SOMEONE CALL THE DOC!”

Henry Harvey Arnold hit the ground with a sickening thud. His head bounced off the floor and a red stain started to form almost immediately. This alone probably would have killed him but he was dead even before he hit the ground.

Spaatz

It was late in the day and hot in the office. General Spaatz was actually nodding off when he heard a commotion coming from down the hall. He was stunned and shocked and couldn’t actually move for a full minute when he was told about Hap. He knew about the other heart attacks, but he had no idea that Hap was so close to death, so fragile. The possibility that Hap would die suddenly never seriously entered his mind. He figured that after this latest dust up that Hap would retire, and he would be the most likely candidate to take his place, but this was way too soon to comprehend. It would take him a few days to come to grips with the reality that his friend was dead. Yet he did not have a few days.

When he asked what could have upset Hap he was told about the news that Arnold was dealing with. No wonder he was under so much pressure. No wonder poor Hap’s ticker had stopped. Poor Hap. These were war winning or losing choices that had to be made and made now. It was almost impossible for him to concentrate as he poured over the reports that Hap had just dropped and scattered all over the floor when he collapsed. A few of the pages had poor Hap’s blood on them. Poor Hap.

He had to take command and take command now. The order to start the long planned operation would take a week to be fully implemented, and the RAF did not have much time left. The Soviets would not be distracted and might start to wonder about where the USAAF was and why they had not assisted the RAF with more planes and pilots. Why were the B29s not bombing their cities? Any day now they could shift their forces back to the targets that truly mattered. The kinds of targets whose destruction had help defeat Germany and ground the Luftwaffe. The only kind of target that the few remaining atomic bombs could have a devastating effect on and thus cripple the Red Army for a good 6 months. With Britain effectively out of the war they could shift their attention back to what undoubtedly was the prize… to what really mattered… to their oil fields at Baku and Ploesti. They could be well on their way to ringing their oil production facilities with those cursed rockets that took out our first attempt to use the Bomb in this war.

The time is now! This is for you old friend…

“Jensen get me Ike. We have a war to win and I’m sure Hap would have wanted us to carry on. Get me Ike… NOW! We go and we go big! Operation Hap is a go! Get me Kenny after Ike. We go with all we got, and we go now!”

Chapter Sixteen:

The Battle Rages On

The Dover Scar 1946

* * *

People at war are a superstitious lot

* * *

Dover Scar

The hole where the first bomb that fell on the British Isles was just starting to erode after 4 weeks. It hadn’t been touched since the 1000 KG bomb was dropped prematurely by the TU2 S Bat when the bombardier hit the wrong switch shortly after crossing the Channel from France. Our particular bomb was a split second faster in being released and hit the ground ahead of its twin. The bombs landed about a kilometer West Southwest of the South Foreland Lighthouse in the chalky white Dover soil close to the famous cliffs of Dover. The white scar stands out quite well from the surrounding green grass of a pasture gone to seed. The sheep who used to graze there having been moved and eventually slaughtered and put in cans for soldiers in the British Army to eat.

The limestone that is just under the surface of a thin film of topsoil is blindingly white compared to the green grass surrounding them. The two bombs formed a distinct pattern with the lead crater shaped like an arrowhead pointing straight at London and the following white scar having created a crack in the stone that for all intents and purposes formed the shaft of an arrow. For months the VVS pilots had been using it as a kind of good luck charm and symbol of an arrow point the way to London. If the British had known they surely would have filled it in but the whole area had been abandoned as the battle raged further and further afield. This one crater among 10s of thousands was not a major concern.

This was to be the last sortie for Andrei Yurkov and his Yak 3P fitted with drop tanks over Britain. The RAF had long since given up on the tactic of attacking the flights of Soviet planes over the channel to force them to jettison their drop tanks. Just enough escorting fighters were designated as interceptors and they dropped their tanks and took on the attacking Spitfires while the vast majority of planes droned on to their destination on full tanks. The dog fights over the Channel had been a draw for both sides and it did not greatly affect the outcome of later battles over the 52 airfields that Fighter Command had ringed with AA defenses in an attempt to create safe zones covered by a lead curtain of proximity fused 3.7 mm shells. These guns it turned out were the targets of the initial onslaught of over 6,000 sorties a day for over month that the Red Air Force was able to blanket the British Isles with.

Just as they had done over Berlin, the sortie rate had not slackened for close to 30 days.[32] During those 30 days the AA defenses of Fighter Command has ceased to exist which left the landing and taking off RAF fighters sitting ducks to hundreds of marauding Tu2S Bats, Yak 9 Franks, La 7 Fins, IL10 Beasts and Pe2 Bucks. Then the hunt was on for taking off and landing RAF fighters running out of fuel or rolling down the runway. Even planes on the approach pattern who were low and slow took a beating.

The Scar in Dover, as it became known throughout the VVS, was considered a sign of good luck to pilots who flew over it. Andrei got as close to the Scar as he could for good luck. His Yak 3P was behaving quite nicely. It was a good machine to fly. Very responsive and it was very easy to avoid the high angle attacks that the RAF pilots tried to use against him. The timing had to be right but with so many potential wingmen flying cover for you he did not have a really close call yet. He actually regretted shooting down the 4 fighter planes he was credited with. It just didn’t seem fair to destroy a worthy opponent while he was just taking off or landing. It was like shooting fish in a barrel as he had heard an American pilot exclaim during the last war. Yurei was a triple ace for Mother Russia. All but the four last had been worthy kills. Well maybe not the 109 over Berlin. It was flown by what obviously was a student pilot who could barely keep his plane in the air much less do any combat maneuvers. But a kill was a kill and one more step towards the honors and medals that lead to a larger apartment for his family. The thought crossed his mind of, who would put fish in a barrel in the first place and when shoot them.

He was due to rotate out. See his family for a whole month and then move on to the Baku area for interceptor duty. He had heard that Novikov was concerned about the disappearance of the majority of American’s heavy bombers and was preparing for an attack in that area after the British were defeated. He was curious about the region around Cambridge. Whenever they did meet opposition it seem to come from that direction yet all reports were that the airport there was not functioning and was put out of working order earlier on in the attack. His Yak 3 was not made for such a long flight the rumors coming back from the bomber pilots and Yak 9D Frank pilots pointed towards an unknown and still quite functioning airfield of some size in that area. Time after time he had heard that the NKVD was fully confident that such and hidden airfield was a myth.

Well that was not his concern today or for the near future. He was going to spend the winter in fairly warm climes compared to France and Britain. The area of the oil fields in the Caucasus was very nice in the winter. Far away from any combat. Just air patrols over the great expanse of the Mother Land. Hopefully quite boring. The first few days of this battle had been anything but. The RAF pilots were good. He was ever thankful that the VVS had used the intervening 6 months after the end of the last war to retrain thousands of veterans in deflection shooting and practicing constantly on how to elude a faster opponent when he tried to zoom down on you and then zoom away. The maintenance was better and you could just feel the improved quality of the engines and even the cannons jammed less often thanks to the better quality of the ammunition.

It all helped to make you feel more confident. Add in the fact that the Red Air Force had 5 to one odds at the beginning and that had only gotten better as the battle progressed. As he took a slow right hand turn over the South Foreland Lighthouse he noticed that someone had put a few cannon rounds into the North side. That was uncalled for in his opinion. There were plenty of other targets to shoot at than this giant white tower.

Andrei signaled his wingman. He still couldn’t get use to the radios they had been given and preferred the hand signals whenever possible. It kept the flight on their toes and always watching the flight leader. This was a good thing in his opinion. He did, however, allowed Oleg in number 4 slot a lot of latitude because he has the best eyes he had ever experienced. He would put up Oleg’s vision against any airborne radar system known for a 60 kilometer radius. He was truly amazing at spotting enemy aircraft.

Time to climb for some height. It didn’t matter that the British radar would pick them up easier. In fact they wanted to get into a fight with as many RAF fighters as they could attract. Their little furball would call in dozens and then possibly scores of Red Army fighters who would either join the fight or wait for the English to break for home and then follow them like a pack of wolves attacking the slowest and wounded along the way and then catching the rest as they tried to land.

Many an initial battle had been numerically lost only to end up a huge victory for the vultures who followed the supposed victor’s home and shot them out of the sky when they were the most vulnerable. He preferred to be in the position of being the bait. The RAF rose to the occasion less and less now. He sensed that they were about finished. It did take them a good 3 weeks longer than the commanders planned on but it was about over.

How could the British stay in this war after losing the battle for the sky over their heads? Nothing moved on the roads or rails during the day and we were even setting the Night Witches loose at night. Any RAF fighters that were still functioning were very well hidden and did not venture forth often and they would then be followed back to their hiding places. Even the new planes coming out of the factories were not allowed to be moved during the day.

He had flown top cover for a couple of squadrons of IL10 Beasts that had been vectored into a couple of dozen brand new Meteors hidden in a wood near the factory waiting to be transported that night. When he had expressed his concern at finding the correct woods much less the planes hidden within it, his commander had hinted at spies and Lavrentiy Beria being involved. Sure enough they did not see anything in the woods the first pass until a few Beasts dropped some PTAB bomblets and then all hell broke loose as the IL10s dropped their external fuel tanks and did their Circle of Death ballet over the patch of still burning woods blindly reaching out with 23mm cannon rounds until another target appeared from under the camouflage.

It was very good camouflage to the naked eye. If the spy who spotted and then reported them would not have been involved they would never have seen them in the woods. The jets on either side had not played a major role as of yet. Both sides’ models had very limited range so they consequently never met in battle. The US Shooting Star had great range but except for a few occurrences, did not appear over British air space. He suspected that was why he was being pulled out of the Channel area and sent to Baku. The American’s were sure to attack from somewhere soon. He had heard a major bombing campaign would be launched in the spring from Iberia or possibly some of the islands in the Mediterranean. He was just a fighter pilot however and had no firm proof of anything.

Ten more minutes and then he would turn for home… or at least the French coast. He would go to sleep dreaming about the good life waiting for him near the Black Sea. It would be a major change from the intense fighting he experienced over Britain. A very welcome change he mused. Maybe he could bring down his family to enjoy the warmer climes in Baku. He felt in his bones that this part of the world was in for a very hard winter. He had felt this before near Moscow in 1943 and he was proven right.

“The Façade” by RangerElite

Home Front in WWIII 1946

0930

Emergency Meeting Of the Security Council of the United Nations,

U.N. Temporary Headquarters,

San Francisco, California, U.S.A.

According to the by-laws governing the operations of the United Nations organization, the only Soviet diplomats with portfolio allowed to operate inside the United States were those who were assigned to this body. However, because the on-going hostilities between their nation, and the Western Powers, their movements were scrutinized in a way they had never before experienced here. In a perverse way, it made them feel at home.

As all the diplomats from the permanent members of the Security Council began to file into the chamber, the tension was so thick that it became difficult to concentrate on the issues at hand. After all, the meeting had been called at the behest of the host nation, the United States, which could not bode well for the Soviet delegates. As the ambassadors all took their seats, the delegate designated as today’s meeting chair gaveled the session into order.

All of the old Security Council business was disposed of and the meeting quickly moved onto the emergency matter at hand: the attempt by the Soviet Union to take control of the United Nations by installing ambassadors from the European countries that they have overrun, especially trying to suborn France’s seat on the Security Council with Stalin’s own hand-picked French representative. The other three permanent members and the representative of the exiled government of France all objected strenuously, precipitating today’s emergency session.

The meeting began with the ambassador from the government-in-exile of France railing against the Soviet Union’s motion to replace him as lawful representative of the Fourth French Republic to the United Nations Security Council. Each of the other permanent members of the Security Council had their turn, with the United Kingdom of Great Britain and the Republic of China using their vetoes against the Soviet proposal, with the ambassadors to the Soviet Union and the United States of America yet to speak. The ambassador for the United States makes his impassioned veto and as the representative of the Soviet Union stands up to speak, the other four members of the Security Council stand up and walk out. It was understood that this would be the final snub to the Soviet Union in its quest for legitimacy, and adjournment of the emergency session and the final dissolution of the United Nations as a working body for the adjudication of international disputes. The United Nations, as it existed that day, would never meet again.

Awaiting the Soviet diplomats when they arrived back in their temporary accommodations was a note from the United States Department of State. It gave the last Soviet citizens left legally on U.S. soil 24 hours to vacate their accommodations and leave the United States, or risk arrest as enemy agents. They were gone in less than 12.

“Red Star on the Run” by RangerElite

0127

In an apartment safe house of the Communist Party-USA,

Near 43rd Street and Cottage Grove Avenue,

The South Side of Chicago

Richard was now a marked and hunted man. Ever since the Soviets had started their War of Liberation back in May, the FBI had been aggressively searching for him, as one of the identified members of the Communist Party-USA (member card number 47644) and the editor of the CP-USA weekly publication, The Chicago Star. He was now subject to arrest and detention, as an enemy agent of the Soviet Union, but his good fortune, and what he believed were his unparalleled skills as a survivor, helped him avoid such a fate. He had been on the run ever since, but every move was now fraught with danger as more and more of his comrades, especially his fellow community organizers in the Negro community, were being rounded up and imprisoned.

Even still, Richard refused to leave Chicago, preferring instead to continue to publish the propaganda paper, when and where the opportunity arose. That was the blessing, and the curse, of the True Believer, was the inabilty to see the pragmatic long view, in favor of short-term gain. Both were useful in their own right, but only one afforded the ability for a complete victory. Richard himself had attempted to agitate some worker riots on the South Side, which were promptly put down by the police department’s flying squads, assisted by Military Police units of the Illinois National Guard (the Posse Comitatus Act had been temporarily suspended by Congress, in its last session), by virtue of the truncheon, and rifle shots fired in the air. Unfortunately, there were a few deaths that resulted, and the ones that did occur were a tragic propaganda blow to CP-USA. As a result, support for the party was beginning to decline now, from their inability to secure moral support or financial backing for strikes, especially from among the Negro community, who wanted nothing more than to work and feed their families, and to be left out of the political fracas. Even the staunchly loyal original members of the CP-USA of Chicago, the “Old Guards”, were distancing themselves from the Richard’s extreme violence, and his attempts to start the revolution in Chicago.

But this time, Richard had gone too far. Last night, close to being captured, he had gotten into a shoot-out with the Feds and two of his comrades were dead, and he saw a couple Feds go down. If that was indeed the case, they would be searching harder for him now, relentless to capture or kill him, for injuring or killing their own. Richard will not yield. In the ratty tenement apartment, he had close at hand a Tommy gun and a Colt .45 automatic. He was not a rat, refused to be tortured, and resolved not to be taken alive. What he did not know was that there was a combined task force, composed of the Chicago FBI’s Special Intelligence Section, and the Chicago Police Department’s newly-established communist-hunting intelligence section, the “Red Squad”, gathering intelligence on Richard and his associates, stalking them back to where they hid.

A fierce, hard, pounding on the door. “RICHARD DAVIS BELZINGER! THIS IS THE FBI! YOU ARE WANTED IN THE MURDER OF TWO FBI AGENTS! YOU ARE SURROUNDED AND CAN NOT RUN, SO SURRENDER PEACEFULLY!” No immediate answer. Two rapid shotgun blasts, and the splintered door is kicked in, and just as quickly, Richard Davis Belzinger calmly stands up, holding up the Tommy gun to his shoulder, and fires it until the 50-round drum magazine is emptied. Sometime between the moment that he calmly puts down the Tommy gun, and the time that he attempted to reach for the Colt .45 pistol, five .45 bullets entered his chest, ripping huge chunks out of him as they exited.

As he lay bleeding, fading slowly, he saw standing over him the new FBI Special Agent in Charge, Eliot Ness. Ness had been brought out of retirement in Cleveland and recruited into the FBI, to command the Chicago office’s Special Intelligence Section. His mission was hunting down the communist cells in his hometown. “This is for my men you murdered last night, you bastard!” And the Colt .45 jumped in Ness’ hand…

Found — One Stalin’s Stinger — X4 Missile

The missile was in pristine shape. It was found in a field in France near Toulouse. It apparently fell to earth after expending its fuel chasing after an encounter between Soviet fighters and some RAF bombers over the Pyrenees. It had taken nearly a month to make the 100 km or so through the fighting in the Pyrenees and finally onto the BB-64 USS Wisconsin on station off Perpignan covering and anchoring the East end of the Pyrenees Line. Deep in the bowels of the great ship a laboratory had been set up and Jeff Montgomery had been flown in from the states. Jeff was the premier expert in the US stable of weapons specialists and was particularly knowledgeable in regards to the German version of the X4 air to air missile. And now he had his hands on an actual Soviet version.

His hands trembled at the thought of actually dissecting the object of his dreams that had eluded him for the past 3 months. He was about to discover what the worlds experts could not. Inside this metal streamlined bullet shaped object held the secret of how the Reds had done what the experts said could not be done. What was the guidance system that had baffled the British experts? Every jamming scheme had been tried and nothing had worked. They had even sent up a raid just to test out various inventions and nothing had worked. They had lost 6 bombers in that one.

So far the Soviet missile look very similar to its German cousin. It was larger and had a rounded nose with what looked like a large tinted dome. It seemed to be made out of the same material that aircraft canopies were made of but tinted so he could not see inside. So they are using optics was his initial thought. Some kind of television camera system or something similar he wildly guessed. If it was anything like the German version he had to work from the middle of the rocket in disassembling the unit and eventually getting at the guidance system.

He noted that the Soviets has switched to a solid propellant rather than the caustic liquids used by the Nazis. He had heard that they were moving in that direction as well. Luckily the war had ended. Come to think of it maybe it wasn’t luckily. The Reds or the God Damn murdering Krauts. Nice choice of who should be using these guided bullets. Concentrate you idiot.

“Sam bring me the long tweezers and a wire cutter and hold the flashlight for me!”

What the hell is this?! That isn’t usual on these…

“A little to the left Sam. Thanks.. that’s better. While I’ll be a son of a bitch they have booby trapped this thing! Well I supposed that makes sense. I guess I would too.”

“Stop messing with it then Jeff. You’re not a bomb expert! Close it up and we’ll get an expert in here to disarm the thing.”

“I didn’t travel half way around the world to stop now.”

“Commander get in here this idiot is going to try and DISARM THIS THING!”

“SHUT THE HELL UP SAM!”

“STAND DOWN NOW!”

“Aw shit… I mean yes sir.”

“Now step away and explain the situation.”

It took another two days for the bomb expert to arrive. It took him another 3 hours to disarm the small bomb contained within the missile. It was designed to explode when the panel was opened and it had failed to arm itself. Luck was with Jeff Montgomery and Sam that day. Despite getting dressed down Jeff was still the guidance expert.

Finally after cooling his jets in confinement aboard the battlewagon for a few days he was allowed to get back to work. The disassembly went fairly quickly and then disappointment. He had removed the unit that contained the guidance system and there it was. The same old Kehl-Straßburg FuG 203/230 that had guided the Fritz X bomb![33] How in the hell could this old system be ignoring the jamming put up by the best electronic experts in the US and Britain! How can this piece of shit ignore physics!? He sat there staring at what he considered an antique for what seemed like hours trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He was totally confused and without any kind of explanation or answers. What was he going to tell… well anyone? He had hit the lowest point in his life after anticipating the highest. He just didn’t get it. How were they doing it? His mind went blank and he again sat there in silence until he was physically shaken by Sam.

X-4 Air to Air Missile

Soviet Occupied Toulouse

In a small bunker near the Soviet Army area HQ

Two men sat by lantern light drinking vodka, not their first of the night.

“Well Dmitri how goes the disinformation campaign?”

“The stupid Frogs and Amerikosi have only discovered and smuggled out one of the missiles so far. They are amazingly incompetent. We almost caught them with that one as well. A last minute call was required to allow the fool NATO spy to get through the checkpoint. Yuri was keeping track of their progress when they bumbled straight into a checkpoint in Limoux. He had to quickly find a phone and distract the guards so the fools could continue on. I just don’t see how they were able to catch every German spy sent to England with such fools as agents.”

“Maybe we are just so much better or they are so bad. It certainly makes one wonder.”

“Anyway we have planted fully a dozen of the decoy missiles and that was the only one they have found and tried to smuggle out. I had heard that the vaunted British experts that figured out some of the wars greatest works of espionage actually got most of their information from a group called MI 19. All they did was to record captured German conversations, overhearing many of the secrets that they claimed to have figured out. An example would be the electronic beams the Germans were using to guide the bombers to their targets. The so called Battle of the Beams was actually just based on an overheard conversation caught on tape at some prison full of German Generals housed in a mansion. Luck if you ask me is more like it. But then again what is most of this business but luck.”

“So what is the end game in this project of yours?”

“The decoy missiles contain various antiquated German systems for guided bombs. It should drive the NATO pigs crazy trying to figure out why their jamming efforts have no effect. It defies physics as they know it. Maybe it is a bit of subterfuge to confuse the issue and it could help to cause them to reject the real system if they ever get their hands on a working model.”

“Maskirovka at its best…”

“Maskirovka at its best indeed, Dmitri.”

Quality Control

The wheel bearing on the right rear inside tire of the tank transport trailer started to heat up within 15 minutes of the day’s first hour. A crack had allowed the lubricant to leak out as the bearing got hotter and after another 30 minutes it had seized. The co-driver saw the smoke coming from the trailer and warned the driver. The driver cursed a blue streak as he maneuvered the heavy tractor trailer and its cargo to a wider spot in the road. He knew if he stopped the convoy for anything but death he would indeed end up dead. The other trucks and their cargos of Stalin’s Fire Wasserfall Ground to Air missiles pulled far over to the left to squeeze past the stalled M-19 and its cargo of missile launchers and their missiles. Each of the trucks and trailers along with others supported the dozen Wasserfal missiles in the battery.

These special transport units were based on the German Vitalwagen and Meillerwagen33 but on a smaller scale. The Soviet version of the Wasserfall or Stalin’s Fire as it was being called officially, was much more compact than the V2 and much easier to transport and use. The Transport trailer was used for long range transport and was lighter of the two. Once the missile got to within 50 KM of the staging area it was transferred to the much more complex Launching trailer. The Launching trailer was a complete mobile launching pad and fueling solution for the Stalin’s Fire ground to air missile system.

After the Launching trailer was close to the launch point, the Firing Platoon Truck Section took charge. The Launching trailer was moved via hand winches to the firing stand and then leveled via the two extendable outriggers with end-jacks. When vertical, the rocket was suspended above the firing stand, which was raised to touch the rocket fins like its bigger brother the V2 was and the rocket was fueled from supplies on the Launch trailer. The whole process could be done in less than 90 minutes from arrival.[34]

As with the German version of the larger unit the Launching trailer acted as a gantry, lifting frame including a number of work platforms for the crewmen to service the rocket. Just like its larger German cousin, it carried a number of accessories for both itself and the rocket such as a toolbox, snow chains, tire pump, tools, blast shields with special carriers for the graphite steering vanes and the guidance system.

A repair unit showed up within 30 minutes and started the repairs. This was all reported up the chain of command and ended up on Sergo’s desk. He would find out who and where the wheel bearing had been made. What shift and what crew. They would be evaluated by Georgie and may or may not live to tell about it. Georgie was not capricious about quality control. If the workers made an honest mistake or the metal they received was inferior then they would be forgiven and humanely retrained. If they performed sabotage Georgie would kill them on the spot with such casualness that it was most terrifying to all who watched. He usually garrotes them very quickly and efficiently right there on the shop floor. His move is so fast and practiced that no one has even been able to effectively fight back. The fact was that the majority of the time the workers had just done something in error. It was therefore corrected with no one being physically harmed.

The workers in Sergo’s realm are thoroughly tested and chosen for their jobs. If they do a good job they are rewarded if not they are retrained using standard methods pioneered in the West. The quality of the weapons systems under the control of Sergo and Georgie are quickly matching their counterparts in the West. Many people in the West believe that the Soviet worker is incapable of quality work. This is not the case. Some point to the IL2 or T-34 from early on in the war. What the West called poor quality was actually very pragmatic.

For example the average T-34 in 1944 had a life span of a little over 2 weeks from the time it left the factory. Why bother with quality. T-34s were destroyed because they were on the offensive and you would expect to lose 3 to 1 against a dug in and hidden enemy. Not many T-34 were lost because they broke down or wore out at the wrong time.[35]

Now it was different. Quality mattered. It took a long time to train a good pilot and the pilots coming out of Sergo’s training program were on par with any Western trained pilot. After all the US Army Air Force trained many of the trainers and during the six months of peace leading up to May 1946 they could take the time to train them properly. In 1941-44 this was not possible but now it was. With 10s of thousands of properly trained replacements in the pipeline Sergo felt that they were more than a match for the USAAF and the RAF. The recent battle over Britain had shown that. And once again under Sergo the pilots were tested and place in the proper training program. It was true that the RAF was out maneuvered, out foxed and overwhelmed by sheer numbers. The information Beria delivered truly amazed Sergo. The Capitalist pigs must surely be doing something drastically wrong in order to spawn such a stable of traitors.

That undisciplined and almost useless “hero of the Soviet Union”, Perl, had indeed produced a treasure trove of knowledge about the Yankee YP-80 and in particular their engine. In addition he was an expert and greatly assisting MiG with its newest swept wing jet. The Jumo was still useful especially since he had demanded that the foremost metallurgists find a way to improve the live span of the parts. The new Jumo model being produced now went an average of 100 hours before a major overhaul was needed. A 400% increase over the 25 hours previously required.

Back at the M-19 lend lease tractor the repair unit had replaced the wheel bearing and it was once again on its way South. Dozens of caravans and train loads of missiles and their support units were streaming from France and Germany towards the Black Sea. It seems that Beria and Novikov had finally realized just how vulnerable the Southern door and its oil fields were. Despite having no concrete intelligence about a threat, Beria’s nose was itching. Novikov took a little more convincing but as the RAF disappeared from the skies over the British Isles he too overcame his reluctance to move his defensive shield to the most vulnerable areas of the USSR.

What had set Beria’s nose to twitching was a very late report from the Valley of the Kings south of Cairo of large and very strange bombers flying high over the area going south. He quickly calculated the distance that the B29 could effectively perform a bombing run and came to the frightening conclusion that the vital oil fields of Baku among others were within range of the giant bomber and they were possibly being stationed in Egypt. He then recalled a plan that had reached his desk from his web of spies that mentioned just such a contingency. He cursed himself for not seeing it earlier and being more concerned about the disappearance of the Amerikosi bomber from the skies over Europe. They had only to deal with the venerable B-17 and medium bombers. All of whom were of no great concern and could be defended by the majority of frontline propeller driven fighters of the VVS. Having the B29 in their possession since early 1944 did wonders in planning for its destruction and also sent shivers up your spine when you realized that you did not have all the eventualities currently in place needed to defeat this truly wondrous machine.[36]

He knew that Novikov coveted the Super fortress but Sergo and Stalin had decided to concentrate on defensive weapons and the missile as the weapon of the future. Both claimed the era of the manned strategic bomber was over. He had a clandestine meeting with Novikov and it had taken a number of hours to convince the big oaf that it would not be wise to inform Stalin at this time about the possible growing threat from the Pyramids. Not until they had the defenses in place. They had both agreed that the warnings and reports from Maslennikov, the Commander of Transcaucasia Front, must be redacted and kept from Stalin’s eyes. Maslennikov had warned of this very danger and if it came to pass that he was correct… he had to be eliminated. It was either him or us Beria argued. It was not like this kind of thing had not happened thousands of times in the past and both of them had partaken of this effective solution many times in their collective careers. Trump up charges and a few sessions in one of Beria’s chairs and the problem was solved.

Meanwhile Novikov was moving heaven and earth to bring in all the assets needed to defend the south. The new missiles coming off of Sergo’s assembly lines in the Urals were being diverted from other cities and rushed towards the South starting with the Baku area. They both agreed that finishing off the RAF would take precedence and the large scale movement of long range interceptor and fighter units would wait. All jet aircraft and some of the newest point interceptors coming off the factory floors would however make their debut in the South. They would cut their teeth and train in the Black Sea area. Two advantages of this would be that the newest creations of the Soviet Design Bureaus could be tested away from the prying eyes of the West and if the B29 was to show up they would be the perfect counter against such a contingency. They would collectively look like geniuses and masters of strategy in the eyes of Stalin.

Many of the new creations that Sergo had pressed into service were not that new. Mostly point defense weapons that were inexpensive to make and the Germans had pioneered. When you made a list of the weapons Sergo had championed you come to the inescapable conclusion that he had invented nothing new. He was a master of taking a good idea and bringing it to completion. Hence a longer range version of the German He 162 Salamander renamed the Borsch for its simplicity and being inexpensive to make.[37] The Soviet version had taken the advice of Eric “Winkle” Brown of the RAF who did extensive test flying of captured He 162 and found them “delightful to fly” but a design flaw in its tail had killed another test pilot. Mr. Brown had thoughtfully published his thoughts on the He162 for all to see. And all the wrong people saw it. Beria passed this on to Sergo who found the right person to redesign the tail in the defector Perl and these changes had been incorporated in the new design. Georgie made the necessary changes in manufacturing and the Borsch was ready for combat.

Starting with the B variant of the German version the Borsch had twice the range and endurance of the A variant. It was designed to reach for the stars with a rapid ascent to the required height make 3 or 4 passes at the bomber stream and return under power. Unlike the original who’s pilots often lost their lives when forced to perform dead stick landings while under constant attack by enemy fighter bombers. The Borsch was designed for one thing. To destroy a B29 as fast as possible and then return to do it again. Unlike the German version this one was designed to bring the pilot home to fight again and unlike the German version this version would be piloted by trained pilots. Pilots who were trained well and expected to live as well.

The Witches Fly Again

The team of Williams and Johnson had made triple ace status in the last war by being able to see in the dark. Combining the Mosquito and radar had created a killing machine that owned the night. Some of the new US planes designed specifically for night fighting might have a future advantage but for now the Mosquito Night fighter was the best there was in the battle space now in contention over Western Europe and Britain. They owned the night and Williams and Johnson were considered among the best.

They were perfectly matched with the pilot Williams’s proclivity for taking the occasional chance and Johnson there to reign him in when he started to wander too far from the garden path. Tonight was like many others with one glaring exception… TARGETS! From the airfields across the Channel in enemy territory close to a hundred echoes bounced back to warn Fighter Command that something was rising into the night. Exciting times if you were a night fighter but puzzling none the less. Why now?

Since the inception of the battle the VVS had declined to fight at night. The RAF had conducted many raids and created many widows and the response had been muted to say the least. Even the Night Witches had ceased to fly. It was widely surmised that the Soviets had no expertise, equipment or the training to fight at night. They had no need to swirl about in the pitch dark. Their night defying missiles had put a stop to any large strategic bombing raids for now and the pin pricks visited upon their airbases at night were a mere nuisance and not worthy of concerted effort in the large scheme of things. Similar to Washing Machine Charley[38] or their own Night Witches. An irritant but not a strategic or even a major tactical concern.

Yet tonight they had arisen from the shores of the Channel and were flying West with what seemed like a purpose. Almost 100, what seemed like solo missions, spread out and flying due West at low to medium altitude. The new models of radar easily picked them up and they must have known that, yet here they were flying into what would seem to be certain destruction. True the AA defenses had been decimated but he night fighter units had been largely untouched and had been well hidden during the onslaughts of the previous days that had decimated their daylight counterparts. For the most part the night fighter units were intact and ready to deal death.

Williams dove down and approached the much slower target from the lower rear heading Towards the West but still over the Channel. When he got within 2km he saw a light come from where the target was. For all intents and purposes is looked like a missile being launched. Johnson shouted a warning that another blip was on the radar and closing fast. Williams didn’t need to be told, He could see the damn thing streaking right at him at a tremendous rate. Acting instinctively he put the Mossie in a wing over screaming dive and luckily he timed it right as the missile could not turn fast enough given the closing rate. Williams mind was thinking… the God damn thing turn and would have hit us. It God damn turned. Jeesus where was it now? It was one of those guided things he has heard about. But in the night! What the hell!

“Where is that thing Johnson? Can you see it for God’s sake?

“Hell no… and it’s off the radar behind us somewhere?”

“We can turn faster than it can if we know where it is.”

“It’s got a flame coming out the back it shouldn’t be this hard to see it for God’s sake.”

Williams with his pilot’s eyes, saw the blue flame off to the right as they continued on in the dive. As he was trying to pull up the Mossie creaked and groaned like an old rocking chair before it broke. If there was a tree down there we are dead, he thought. Then wham the missile exploded as it was turning towards them again.

The wood bomber power zoomed away from the water like only a Mosquito can and was quickly back to a safe altitude. All the unexpected gyrations had caused Johnson to smash his head into the radar scope and put it and his left eye out of commission. Their night was over.

“What in bleeding hell was that?”

“One of those guided missiles the day boys are always talking about I should think.”

“What’s it doing our here in the night? I saw no indication of radar pulses coming from it or the target and where did it come from. The target was moving away from us not pointed at us. We have to get back and report this newest big from Ivan and see if the egg heads can figure it out.”

“How bad are you hurt?’

“Not too, but the scope is off kilter and we are done for the night anyway.”

Just then Williams spotted another missile launch and saw the missile initially drop from the now silhouetted twin engine plane. The missile had indeed launched backwards and was heading with a vengeance at something. That something turn out to be another Mossie. Whomever was in this plane did not react as fast or as correctly as he did. The Mossie turned and dove way too slow and the missile hit it amidships and flames were everywhere along with pilot and crew he assumed. He kicked himself for being so crass at a time like this, but the mind does such things.

In all their maneuverings they were now low and slow and heading back East and heading towards Dunkirk. A tingling feeling went through William’s body and the hair of the back of his neck went up just before another missile slammed into them.

3 kilometers West

Zoya just hoped that what she was told was indeed what was going to happen. She and her fellow Witches were told to fly like a metal duck in a shooting gallery and wait for the Nightmare Missiles hanging from her outmoded Pe-3 Bis to tell her she was being hunted. Two of the things were pointed forwards and 4 where pointed backwards! Who would have thought of that and why? But then she thought about it. Where would a night fighter with radar attack you from? The rear of course! Why not have the missile launch backwards if your enemy was behind you. Who needs a rear gunner when you have a rear missile? It was not like the rear facing ones cause that much more drag. The Pe-3 was slow as hell anyway.

She was sweating and so nervous that when the four rear missiles started to signal in unison that something was behind her she almost wet herself and would have jumped a meter if she wasn’t strapped in. She had not been trained to fly at night extensively. These Pe-3s had been given to the navy as dive bombers and no one expected them to see combat again. But they had slapped a new late war German radar set in them and put those Nightmares facing the wrong way on them and told them what to do.

Basically they were bait and a launching platform for the Nightmare. Nothing fancy about that. Just go and fly West into what looked like assured death for the Motherland. And they all did it of course. That’s what you did in Stalin’s realm. Only this might not be so deadly for them after all.

Once a rear facing missile was launched they were to turn and attempt to follow it to its target. If it did not hit the target they should be facing the correct direction and could turn on the radar or even just wait for the forward facing missiles to start signaling. If so then they were to launch them.

She and 18 others got lucky that night. A total of 53 missiles were launched with 11 rear firing and 7 launched frontally hitting their intended targets. She never did see the enemy until it exploded in a flaming ball that plummeted to earth.

After her left outside rear facing missile was launched she threw the little bomber in a tight right hand turn while Maya tried to keep an eye on the missile. While completing the turn she caught a glimpse of the Mosquito as the missile flashed by it briefly illuminating it. She supposed that the Nightmare could have some kind of flash suppressor or flame reducer or whatever they called it, so it wasn’t so bright but then again maybe that was by design to scare the enemy even more and to make them and their intended target easier to see. It did work in his case and she clearly saw the general direction the night fighter was headed. She pointed her nose at where the plane should be and her forward Nightmares started to chatter so she launched one.

She reported that she did not believe that the enemy knew what hit him. The deadly Mosquito Night Fighter did not appear to be attempting any evasive maneuvers like the initial encounter and was flying fairly straight and level. Probably trying to process his near miss with death only to set himself up again for said fate. Other successful forward firing marksmen reported similar findings, although you could hardly call them marksmen when all they did was to point and hit the launching button. The missile did the rest.

The rear firing successes appeared to be a matter of surprise. A deer in the headlights type of reaction by the ill-fated, would be hunters, caught red handed in the spotlight and not knowing how to react. Fascinated by the turn of events and not able to think to turn their planes quickly enough. Perfectly understandable if you asked her and the commissar did ask her.

The Night Witches were back![39]

The Captain Asks a Question

The General finally seemed to be in a good enough mood and his aide decided that the time was ripe for him to ask a question that had been eating him alive ever since the first day he had joined HQ and become an aide. He was a fighting man a real grunt that had gotten a number of field promotions from private to Captain. Not because he had gone to college or because he has attended military academies. No, he had earned his Captaincy by thinking fast on his feet and using that gift to kill a lot of Japanese. He had not been to combat school or lectures or anything even close to learning the ins and outs of strategy. He knew tactics and in particular small unit tactics like no other person in the Army and he had learned it on the job.

So he was very frustrated by what he saw at HQ. He now attended the briefings and small meetings of some of the Armies highest ranking officers. The people who had attended West Point including some who had written the books that they used at West Point. He was surrounded by the brain trust of the US ground forces and he was totally confused by what the hell was going on.

“General, may I speak freely and ask a question or two? It will help me do my job, Sir.”

“Of course Porter, ask away.”

“Well sir I just don’t get what is going on in Spain. We have close to 2 dozen divisions trained and sitting waiting to be deployed. Why aren’t we getting them to the Pyrenees Line and doing it as quickly as possible?

“That is a good observation Porter and it would seem to be the smart thing to do wouldn’t it. Send those boys to shore up the line and eventually maybe even push the Reds back a ways. Let me ask you a question. How many lives and how much time do you think it would take to finally fight through those 100s of commie divisions and get to Moscow? I’ll give you a little hint. It took us close to a year to go 600 miles fighting an enemy who was being bombed day and night. Whose infrastructure was devastated, and we were facing less than 60 divisions filled with old men and boys. Divisions who were spent, yet who gave us a run for our money.

Now imagine what we are going to face if we try and attack from Spain. We would be fighting an enemy close to 4 times the size of the German forces. An enemy who has only one front to defend and not two like the Germans. An enemy who is not being bombed day and night. Who’s militarily significant infrastructure has been repaired and in relatively functional shape. An enemy who has as many resources as we do and all within his territory. Add in the fact that we have to go over 3 times farther to get to his capital and another 900 miles to get to his industrial heartland. Do you think it’s reasonable that the American public is going to support such a long drawn out war that will include many times more casualties as the last war and take up to three times as long to win?”

“Well sir I guess it’s a pretty tall order. So how are we going to do it?”

“Son, we are going to divide and conquer. We are setting old Joe up to be sliced and diced. We are making him think he is winning. We’re making him believe that just a few more divisions will do the job. Just a few more squadrons and a few more resources allocated and he will eventually punch through our lines wherever they are. A few more squadrons will finally defeat the RAF and a few more divisions will finally make the breakthrough into Spain a reality. Just a little bit more and then a little bit more until he is all in. Like a gambler who thinks his opponent is bluffing and keeps calling and raising, sure that just one more raise will break his opponents will.

If we stop him cold in the Pyrenees, he will dig in and even possibly consolidate what he has won. He might just start to set up defensive lines in depth and get ready for us. If we keep him thinking that just a little bit more and then a little bit more might just win him the brass ring he will keep feeding his forces into the meat grinder and not think about the future. If we stop him cold and even start to push him back, he will dig in and that will not be good. That will lead to a stalemate and an endless war that the American public will not support. So it is imperative that we make him commit as many of his forces as possible to the offensive and not thinking about defense. Once he digs in it is over, and no one will win quickly.”

“So you’re setting him up by drawing him in? By making him think that he is winning, and that just a little bit more force will finally break our back? Kind of like a pool hustler.”

“Now you have me at a disadvantage son. I don’t know about pool. But yes that is the first part of the plan. The second part is getting very complicated with many moving parts all designed to deceive the greatest double dealer of all time. We still have a series of operations planned to make him commit his forces even more. All designed to stretch his supply lines to their breaking point without him realizing what he is doing. We are setting the biggest trap ever contemplated, much less implemented. We will not win a war of attrition. We barely did that with Germany and Japan, and they were fighting the Reds, as well. We are going to win a war of maneuver. General MacArthur showed us how to do that in the Pacific.[40] We have to make the obvious seem not possible.”

“All I can say sir is I’m glad you’re on our side.”

Warning! Extreme Cussing

Another fucking run. God it was hot even for September, almost October. What do you expect for Alabama! It’s always hot here from what I’ve seen so far. Slow it down you asshole. I’m sucking dust back here. I guess that makes you want to be out front. Not me I’m not busting my butt. Holy shit is that an alligator or a crocodile and what is it doing there next to the trail? I’m so tired I can’t even scream. Shit I just ran right past a crocodile and didn’t faint. Now that’s tired. Wait till I tell Bob back home. That will shut him up from some of his war stories. I wonder if I’ll have any more stories and survive to tell about it or will I get killed coming off the boat, LCI even, Higgins boat. What the fuck, who cares. I never even used to swear in my day dreams or even while I was thinking like this. Now I’m swearing at the top of my lungs if the Corporal orders me too. Amazing how they figure out your buttons to push. A hundred setups or 20 pushups no big deal. Calling my girl a whore, didn’t get to me. Making me clean the latrine, a piece of cake. Then the mother fucking bastard noticed I never swore. He zeroed in like a hawk after a mouse.

Ordering me to cuss every other word for what seemed like hours. What am I going to do when I get home and something slips out? My mom will be so ashamed and so disappointed. I guess I just can’t ever go home again. That’s stupid… oh Jesus a God damn snake for Christ sake. Oh my God stop it! Stop thinking such awful things to say.

Alright, alright think about something else like how your legs are going to fall off or how I sure lost that pot belly. Didn’t think that would happen. I sure wish I’d have missed this war too like I did the last one. Sat at home with all the girls in town and I was one of the only young guys around. Man that was heaven. I even got to third base with Elaine. God what great breasts. Oh shit not now, not a boner while I’m running. Oh Christ if someone notices I’ll never live it down. I can hear it now. There goes Boner Dietz. Hey Boner let’s have a drink. Boner you going to take all night shitting in there. There’s a puddle.

Okay slip and fall into it.

Holy shit that stinks!

“What the hell you doing Dietz! Now get the fuck out of there and quite wallerin around like the pig you are and GET BACK ON YOUR FEET! YOU HEAR ME DIETZ YOU COCK SUCKIN GERMAN BASTARD!”

“I tripped Corp.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if you dove in there. GET THE HELL OUT!

“Yes Corp!”

“You better swear when you say that Dietz!”

“Fuck you Corporal!”

“I can’t hear you.”

“FUCK YOU CORPORAL!”

“That’s better not get your ass moving.”

Damn that was close. Nothing like that ugly bastards face to wipe any thoughts of Elaine’s boobs out of your mind. Oh shit there they are! I actually never did see them, but I sure felt them. I guess being a second generation German with flat feet doesn’t help in this war. Hell everyone spoke German in Lodi. Lodi Wisconsin, what a great place. Even working in the canning factory wasn’t too bad. Lodi’s Idol corn and peas. You worked you ass off for 4 months then waited for it to start again. I heard the old man put his brother through dental school and then his brother turned around and put him through school. The story goes he didn’t want to be a dentist after all so he started the factory. How in the hell do you start a factory?

Being one of the few eligible men in town I was in high demand both for work and for making out. Well those days are sure gone. When the GIs came back I was back in second class. They had all these stories and the girls just wanted to hold them all night and take away their nightmares. I wonder what we’re in for? All this training for invasion shit. Amphibious operations is all we hear. Hell I rather jump out of airplanes myself. Day after day of climbing those damn cargo nets and wading through the mangrove swamps around Mobile. I wonder how many mangrove swamps we’ll find in Moscow for Christ’s sake.

Why can’t they invent a slide to get into the boat or how about a Tarzan vine to swing down. Higgins boat, LC, Landing Craft Infantry, who in the fuck cares? Miserable creations the wallow in waves. You’re so sea sick before you get to shore you can’t possibly shoot straight. What the hell is the army doing learning to invade anyway? Isn’t that what the Marines are for?

Oh man just a half mile more. Hell before this I couldn’t have walked a half mile much less run it. Someone must be expecting us to do a lot of invading or we are sure wasting our time, which is nothing new in the army. Fucking Russia has no coastline from what I remember or very little. Let’s see… something around the Baltic and the Black Sea. But both are hard to get to. OH FUCK! OH SHIT! a fucking cramp. Oh that’s just what I need! Damn that hurts.

“Move your ass Dietz.”

“FUCK YOU CORPORAL!”

“That’s what we like to hear Dietz. NOW QUIT FUCKING AROUND AND GET YOUR ASS MOVING.”

“FUCK YOU CORPORAL!”

I don’t think anyone is going to believe this when I tell them. I am actually ordered to cuss out my drill sergeant and corporal. Fucking unbelievable! What is father Peters going to say when I have to confess? Please don’t let me swear in front of Mom. It will kill her. If I can learn to swear I can unlearn it just as well but first I have to kill Stalin according to the Sarge. Fucking Sarge if you please. Mother fucking, cock sucking Sarge! God damn my leg hurts. At least I’ll beat Jennings. What a fat fuck. Strong as hell though. Imagine doing 10 pull-ups and pulling up 250 lbs. I wouldn’t want to have him get me in a bear hug. Crush my ribs for sure. At least I can outrun him. What’s that saying? I don’t have to outrun the bear, just you. He’s actually a nice guy.

The big ones usually are. Some of the nicest guys in school were the offensive linemen. Made to protect the quarterback I guess. Don’t see many Negros in Wisconsin. Some in Milwaukee but not in Lodi. Jennings is not a bad sort actually. Talks funny but then again some people think I do too.

I don’t think I do but when people mimic me I guess I do that O thing and say Yah der hey too much. I’m trying to lose the Noa and just say no. It’s hard changing how you speak. I wish those southern boys would learn to speak so you could understand them. They expect you to change your way of talking to fit theirs. You know it kind of does become easier to talk like them. Kind of a lazy English. Drives you crazy waiting for them to get the words out that you know are coming. Southern drawl my ass. Southern dull is more like it. Now Jennings talks a mile a minute. What the hell does that mean anyway, “a mile a minute”.

Oh shit there they are. Imagine running to get on a fucking boat. Well at least there is no waves today. Calm seas makes for an easy ride. Ride back to a fucking transport ship. If I wanted to join the God damn navy I would have joined it. Actually I wouldn’t have. Got drafted right after the Reds attacked. I swear I can climb a cargo net better than a monkey. Practice make perfect is what they say. Practice for what, is what I say.

“Move it, move it, move it!”

Shut the fuck up Corporal!

Chapter Seventeen:

Last Gasp

WAAF Plotters at work in London

* * *

Oral histories of WAAF Plotters, mechanics, gunners and parents

* * *

The Alarm

Molly Higgins:

Once again, the alarms went off. This would be the third major raid of the day. They were not so coordinated as in the past, but they were still massive. Maybe, there was no need for them to be coordinated. I looked at the very limited number of wooden blocks representing RAF squadrons on the huge horizontal map. More like a giant board game than something being used to fight and die. There were more and more black blocks representing destroyed major airfields on the map. As I recall there were four times as many black blocks as functioning airfields. It was assumed that more would be attacked today, and more black blocks would be needed tomorrow. Alvin was in the back painting them.

The map itself had to have its scale changed from the first Battle of Britain. The accursed Soviet planes could reach every corner of the British Isles, and therefore, the map had to cover over five times what the original maps had to cover. The girls’ reach was not five times farther so the map had to stay the same size yet show the increased area hence the scale change. The number of blocks representing the VVS squadrons did not seem to be getting any smaller yet the ones representing the RAF were noticeably less, much less. We were also very aware that each block represented fewer and fewer RAF planes with the squadrons averaging only eight planes, and the planes were the key. We had plenty of qualified pilots. More than enough but they were running out of planes, any kind of planes.

There were calls for “Lend Lease” planes from the US and rumors that they were on the way but nothing as of yet. Some said that the Yanks were setting us up for a defeat by not sending more help. I had heard that there were ideas afloat to put thousands of RAF pilots onto the Queen Mary and have her bring them to the states to ferry the planes we need back from the US bone yards where they were being brought back into fighting shape. The sticking point would be how to get them past the VVS and then how to land them safely without being destroyed like all the others by marauding packs of Bats and Yaks and Beasts. Then how do you fuel them and take off again. Night would seem to be the key as the Red Air force was still not up to RAF standards at night despite their new Nightmare Missile. Yes, I recall thinking, Nightmare Missile, as the press named them. I guess our radar that could see into the night, would seem like a nightmare to the other side as well. We are trading nightmares, how lovely.

I almost missed the note that Michael was waving in my face. I remember thinking, Oh God another black block. This one is to be placed on Wittering.

Bill Sullivan:

I could see Johnny Winslow’s legs were moving faster than they have ever moved before. He was a track runner in secondary school, but he had never had motivation like this. There was a trail of 12mm machine-gun bullets that were fast approaching from behind him. Luckily, it was the rear-facing gunner of a Tu 2s Bat that was trying to take his life. It’s hard to hit a small target from a moving plane. Not that I’ve tried, mind you. Johnny was a pilot who had no plane. However, he was also a former mechanic that knew the Spitfire in and out. One of the few remaining and undamaged Spits at the airfield, was sitting pretty as you please under some camouflage. Somehow Ivan missed seeing this one. All it needed was a critical part. I completely forgot what it was sorry to say. Johnny knew where there was one, and it was in danger of being destroyed as a petrol fire was inching its way towards a wrecked Mark 21. Johnny claimed it was the only one available for hundreds of miles, and we needed one from the wreck that was about to become a melted hunk of metal. The fire, you see, was started by them Red buggers flying that twin engine job they got similar to the ME 110, but it was actually a medium bomber that could out fight most fighters in its day. They were tearing up Wittering like nobody’s business. The only thing moving that day was Johnny running to get to that soon to be flaming wreck. What good was one more target flying around for the Reds to shoot down was what I was thinking, but Johnny was convinced that if he could get that Spit in the air the war was won.

I have to admit Johnny was a good pilot but his running across the open for 300 meters, during an air raid that consisted of every low flying, strafing, napalming plane the Reds had was a decision only the young would make. I tried to hold him back, but he was stronger and more determined than me. Well, he made it 217 meters. I measured it. That tail gunner in the last Red bomber got a lucky shot. Johnny never knew what hit him. I did. A 12 mm bullet makes a pretty big hole in the middle of a 20 year olds chest. It hit him with so much force that he practically flew backwards, so come to think of it. He actually made it 219 meters. Funny how I never thought of that before.

Nicola Kornev:

I was one of the few surviving ventral gunners from our squadron. The Tu-2 is a good plane… for the pilot. The pilots almost always survived and were heavily protected by sheets of steel in just the right places. The planes vital parts were also protected. In fact, of the thousands made I have read that only 70 were shot down in the Great Patriotic War. It was remarkable for a ground attacking bomber. The designer had neglected however, to give even a modicum of protection to the gunners who faced the rear. Each has a single 12 mm machine gun and in the case of the dorsal gunner and my position, not even bullet-proof glass. If there was any air opposition, then the gunner’s average life span was limited to five sorties yet the plane flew on. We patched up the holes washed out the blood and other body parts, and a new gunner or gunners were installed. I had fifteen missions done already. Most were from the current battle over the British countryside. Other gunners rubbed my head for luck. It did them no good.

It was a typical sortie. We were sent to one of the last remaining airfields in Southern England. We were in the third wave and so things were usually pretty finished with by that time. Our wave concentrated on the mechanics, ground crew and were even given rewards for killing the most personnel on the base. I find it highly distasteful to shoot at someone who is not trying to shoot me but my comrades demand we do our duty. First, the dorsal gunner started shooting as the pilot started a steep climb. Then he yelled at me to take a shot. I spotted the young limey dressed like a pilot running down what was basically the runway of the airfield. He was out in the open and running as fast as he could towards something. What he was doing there I have no idea, but I could not ignore him.

As is the case with most accidents, I’m sure, I could not have hit the running pilot if I tried, but I knew I had to take some shots or be put up on charges. I shot and hit him, in mid stride, just as the pilot straightened out the plane. The force of the bullet sent him flying backwards in a spray of blood. The bullet caught him while neither foot was on the ground. It was not something I’m proud of.

They gave me a medal for it. The running man was so far from any cover that it was hard for anyone not to see what was happening. I swear I heard a yell of rage rise from the ground after he fell in a tangle of legs and arms. He did not get up. Others must have been watching his run from the trenches and bunkers; we were supposed to strafe in the hopes of killing some ground crew or even a mechanic.

As we were heading for home that sharp-eyed dorsal gunner, I never did know his name as he was killed the next mission, spotted a lone Spitfire very well hidden in a near-by wood. The pilot banked around and bore straight in for the spot where the gunner indicated and let loose with a burst of cannon fire. Nothing happened. Then it was my turn as we passed over the spot. I finally saw the plane and fired a burst of my gun at it. I suppose one of the tracers found some fuel, and an explosion occurred consuming the last fighter that I know of in our area.

We never again were attacked from the air in those last weeks before we were hastily transferred to the Black Sea area. I regret to this day taking the life of the runner. It really was an accident more than a well-aimed skillful killing. My deeds, whether by design or not, did get me transferred from the gunner position. I was given a medal and sent to bombardier school. I can think of two times that the armor plate near the pilot saved my life in my new position. During the whole of the war, we never had another gunner last more than eight missions. One or the other was always getting killed or maimed. The gunners in the IL-10 were given more armor but not our gunners in the Tu-2S. I guess the Runner saved my life by giving up his.

Dirk Weidman:

After Johnny was hit the same plane that shot him found the last Spitfire on the field. We knew it was the same one because it was painted with a shark’s mouth and was quite distinctive. A few well-placed burst of fire and it was aflame, and then it blew up. We’ve talked it over, and we all agreed it was the same gunner in the tail area of that plane that both killed Johnny and hit that Spitfire. I sure hope he’s proud of his days’ work.

By the time we got to Johnny, he was dead. He probably died instantly. I hope so. At least that gives us some feeling of comfort. I recall that William was really upset. He even tried to stop Johnny from going running all that way in the open like that. I mean what bloody good is one more plane is going to do with the bleeding Reds flying willy-nilly all over like they owned the place. In fact, they did own the air for the most part. You couldn’t drive a vehicle, especially a lorry in the day. Those bloody red bastards seemed to smell diesel fuel and appeared out of nowhere whenever a truck engine started up much less tried to run down the road. There was just too many of them and they were all over the bleeden place. Excuse my language mum, but I get upset when I think about those times and bad times they were. Yes bad times they were.

They sure put a crimper in the air operations out of Wittering. We never got a plane off the ground again during the whole battle. They would come and check occasionally and attack anything that looked like it was new or being repaired or just not destroyed. Those Red bastards never let up during the day. They was always around. Flying around looking for something to kill or destroy. There were just too many of them. Just too many of them…

Mrs. Winslow:

I knew what had happened the minute William showed up at the house. He and Johnny were mates, mates for life. William showing up alone meant only one thing. Only one thing… my Johnny was dead. Oh it hurt so bad I couldn’t even cry it hurt so bad. It just sat there like an explosion behind my eyes trying to find a way out. It did of course eventually. Oh how it did. Then the tears came, and they still haven’t stopped. Every night I think of me Johnny. The way he laughed and could make you feel like there wasn’t a care in the world. Now all that’s gone and all the cares of the world have returned.

Mr. Winslow still hasn’t acknowledged that our Johnny is gone. He sits on the porch like he expects him to come down the lane at any time. He doesn’t go to work and barely eats. The Vicar can’t do anything with him. He just looks right through you. Looks right through you trying to see Johnny coming down the lane. Not even the official notice delivered by the RAF changed his mind. Who knows maybe he sees Johnny, and we just don’t. How can a man go from being life itself to being a lifeless body? Still breathing, still going to sleep, still going to the loo but not quite alive. I’m so ashamed, but I’m angry at Johnny for leaving and taking Mr. Winslow with him. I’ve lost both my boy and my husband, my friend, my life.

Novikov Reflects

Marshal Novikov looked over the roster of squadrons and pilot training units. Quite impressive and for once he was glad that Sergo had the ear of Stalin. It certainly made his life and career much better. No longer was the VVS the step child of the Red Army. Sergo had convinced Stalin to start concentrating on pilots and the production of defensive weapons systems such as the Wasserfall, X4 missile and the new jets, as soon as the resources were available. Even the Tu2 was seen as a protective weapon when it was tasked with keeping the RAF bombers from reaching the Motherland by destroying their means of landing and taking off. Concentrating on the anti-air defenses first, caught the Limeys by complete surprise and who would have thought that an old-fashioned smoke screen could be their downfall. Well, that and the sabotage of the VT or proximity fuse.

The VVS training program now rivaled the US training program in size and scope. With the extra six months of peace time and the knowledge of what was to come and how to capitalize on the known tactics of the RAF and USAAF it had been a rather “Happy Time” to use a German phrase from their Kriegsmarine. Things went their way so far. Shooting down their first attempt at using the most heinous weapon ever invented, the atomic bomb, was a master stroke, and he had to give Beria his due on that operation. It was a brilliant piece of spy craft that has frustrated all the major attempts both the RAF and Yanks had tried to mount. Beria was uncanny in his use of his spy network in gaining the needed knowledge to thwart every attempt of any size up to this juncture.

It could not last forever, and soon he was sure they would have to rely on the skills of both the Soviet design bureaus, Sergo’s factory workers and his pilot training schools. They could not rely on tricks and being able to look into a crystal ball forever to stay ahead of the cursed Americans. They seemed to constantly find a way and this time it was up to him to stop them wherever they dared to strike at the motherland. That new high tailed jet that MiG was working on will come as a surprise, I’m sure. Those American jet engines they captured almost three months ago, and the lessons learned were already finding their way into the design bureaus work. By spring, he will be able to give his newly trained and veteran pilots the means to truly defend the industrial heartland of the Soviet Union from all airborne attacks. He will no longer have to rely on Beria’s tricks and Sergo’s secret missiles. It will be the Soviet worker and pilot against the Western pigs and their best. He was supremely confident in his vision for pilot training. How could it fail… he had copied the American and British model?

10s of thousands of flyers were going to be ready by the spring, men who would have been used as cannon fodder by Zhukov. Men who would have been driving and dying in tanks and using their bodies to form human ramps over barbwire are now being trained to fly and fight in beautifully designed machines, machines designed to shoot down the American B29. Yes, they just had to make it through the winter and into the spring, and then they could stand toe to toe with the capitalist pigs and their air forces. New sources of aluminum ore and oil were being discovered every day. Now they only needed the time to exploit and mine their new-found riches, riches that rivaled the Americans. The greedy Amerikosi had just happened to start their mining first, but we were catching up. We had the added advantage of not having to waste time on the wants of the bourgeois, but can concentrate on the needs of the state instead. We would catch up fast.

Quite frankly, he was surprised that Stalin had attacked when he did. He had a feeling that the pock-marked butcher was not feeling so well… or so invincible and saw the end coming. He could not stay up and drink like he used to and missed many days of work with the Ruling Circle having to take over the day to day operations. He didn’t even seem to take pleasure in the once almost nightly movie viewing sessions. Thank goodness we only had one last month.

The British were on their last legs, and Zhukov is just about to break out into the plains of Spain. His ultimate goal will be to rid the continent of the last resistance of capitalism and to capture Gibraltar. Then a thrust through Turkey and into Egypt and the Mediterranean is a Soviet lake like the Baltic and Black Sea.

But where are the Americans? Yes, a few squadrons of USAAF jets were in Britain but not in the numbers expected by any means. It wouldn’t have mattered with the strategy they had devised but the first few days might have been filled with much heavier losses, but the end would have been the same. The Americans could not take the losses that the Brits, and we could sustain. 10% losses and they stop fighting. A far cry from what we are used too and the Germans as well. Their public is horrified at seeing bodies coming home where as ours understand the noble cause that is being fought over. Their consumerism has made them fat, dumb and too complacent. That will end soon.

I wonder how the British people would react to a 2000 plane raid that just flew over London and did not drop any bombs only leaflets. That would be quite an impressive sight. And he could do it. He could mount such a raid and still keep the pressure up everywhere a nest of anti-aircraft guns tried to shoot his brave pilots down. A hail of bullets, rockets or napalm was all it took to destroy them now. Now he knew how the Germans had felt near the end. Losing control of your skies is a terrible thing in modern warfare.

The only problem in the future was the location of the American super heavy bombers. He had been truly filled with fear when Beria had confided in him his concerns for the Transcaucasia Front. When Beria had contacted him about the clandestine meeting, he feared that he was plotting against Stalin. Would it be a trick or would he be serious, and if he answered wrong would he be tied to one of Beria’s chairs for the short time he had left on earth screaming in pain? When they finally met he was almost relieved when Beria expressed his real concerns. What the hell did he mean when he said his “assets had been compromised” in North Africa? If he lost his agents why didn’t he say so? Bureaucratic double talk from the master.

The window of vulnerability will be short, only three weeks, but it will be critical. He was moving heaven and earth to shift his units to cover the vital oil fields north of the Black sea and Caucasus Mountain range. Luckily, the new Borscht units were headed there anyway even before the realizations that the back door was wide open. Those improved versions of the German He 162 would suffice until the modern jet MiG was ready. The Borscht was cheap and fast to make and easy to fly. Not the kind of plane you could use for the offense but the perfect point defense weapon. Combined with the Stalin’s Fire missile, the renamed Wasserfal, they could put a stop to any raids until the full force of the VVS got into position. The soft Amerikosi cannot endure real losses and will halt any bombing campaign with what they will deem unacceptable losses.

In the past that had meant anything more than 15%. He had units of Sturmovik keep flying after 80% losses, and the pilots volunteered for the next mission and almost certain death. No, the Americans knew nothing of real sacrifice, and will wither if they incur truly heavy losses, and they will tuck their tails once again if they even dare but first we have to not even give them an opportunity. He will have to check on a few of his commanders and possibly create a few widows if things are going too slow.

He would take a good long examination of the Fourth Air Army’s commander Vershinin and his efforts. He did not like the way he look at him the last time they met. A kind of a smirk or unwarranted grin had passed between them. He couldn’t exactly put his finger on it, but he could put more than his finger on Vershinsin.

Battle Over London

I could see that the Red planes were hunting for us. Looking real hard, flying slow trying to catch a glimpse of something that would give away our position, a mirror catching the right angle of possibly a canopy, things like that. A few were flying so low and slow just inviting us to shoot at them. We knew better. We had heard of other units that maybe even shot down one or two but the vengeance delivered upon them was awful to behold. I curse the inventor of napalm.[41] Wicked stuff and we never should have started using it on the Japs or any other human. No better way to get yourself killed and fried alive than to shoot at a flying commie plane in those days. They had us so outnumbered and seemed to hate any kind of ground fire. They swarmed like bees at this point if you shot at them.

We were planning at least one more go at them just cause we were stubborn. Kind of like those two German fighters that buzzed the D-day landings. Fighter Command was keeping most of us grounded and under cover and spread out, what few of us that remained that is. My squadron was down to 5 Spits. Hell we had a hundred pilots but no planes. When I think of all those planes we dumped in the ocean. I was on the HS Formidable off the coast of Australia when the word came down after VJ Day to just dump all those beautiful Corsair IVs off the flight deck. I pushed my own bird off. If we kept them we would have to pay the Yanks under Lend Lease so it was decided to just dump them. It broke my heart and we could certainly have used them now.

Oh god I wish I had my old bird back. Not that the Spit is so bad but you just got used to all that power of the Corsair. I think if we had all those Corsairs back we could have won this round, but we didn’t so we had to make do. We drew straws to see who would get to fly if word came down to gather. Even with having the best air command system in the world it’s hard to overcome the odds we were fighting.

That same day we got word that Ivan was attacking the radar stations. We had to scramble for that. That was probably part of their plan. I remember taking the plane out from under the camo and waiting for operations to give the go ahead to take off. We had to do it quick because you never knew if one of those Red bastard medium bombers would show up. Our area seemed to be filled with ones that had sharks mouths painted on the nose. I finally got the word to head for London. Bang-on I thought, it seems they were going to try and gather for a large attack and hoped to catch and isolate some of the attackers.

It took a long time to form up as we were now spread out all over the place in ones and twos so we could hide better. Who would have ever thought that we would have to hide from anyone after defeating the Germans, but hide we did. With only bits and pieces of all these scattered squadrons meeting for the first time it took us a while to form up properly. By that time the word had spread and the Reds came from all over to mix it up. It was utter chaos with planes flying all over with no thought of control or even proper wingman behavior. My wingman thought I was his wingman and both of us took the initiative and lost each other from the get go. It was like something from out of that movie Wings from the thirties but at four times the speed. Planes cart wheeling out of control and heading for the ground in flames. You had to dodge pieces of flaming wrecks falling all around you.

You hear stories of the first Battle of Britain and Kursk but I can’t imagine they were as concentrated or as intense as this one was. It seemed that both sides decided to pull out all the stops and go for it. Units from Groups 10 and 12, even 13 wanted to strap on tanks and make the trip. The Reds were in perfect position for this fight and they knew it. In hindsight they may had lured out our scattered forces and had us committing them piecemeal. They were coming in dribs and drabs as well, but they now had us out numbered 10 to one by all accounts strategically. It was to be our last hurrah or our greatest victory. Instead of a death by a thousand cuts the pilots wanted to put it all in. We were tired of playing “sardine” where one of us found a safe haven and others tried to join in. I guess that’s what makes a good fighter pilot. The chance to win it all. Cooler heads tried to prevail but with the Reds attacking our Chain Home towers we needed to do something. Fighter Command blinked first which probably saved many lives that day but would have lost the battle if the Yanks hadn’t started their operations elsewhere.

I mean we only had 200 serviceable fighters in all of 10-13 group and they were all on their way to the Battle over London when cooler heads prevailed. Faced with 1000 commie fighters and twin engine attack planes vectoring in from all over the British Isles it was probably a good call. I wasn’t involved in that end of the operation and was trying to fend for myself. Somehow I got back safely and had two kills for my days work. I was about to go up again when my squadrons hiding place was uncovered. Swain was trailing smoke from his Spit that could be seen for miles trailing behind him and that led them straight to us. You can’t blame him. He claims he couldn’t even see it from his viewpoint and I believe him. The light was such that he probably couldn’t see it, but Ivan could and hit us hard.

All our serviceable planes were gone in 10 minutes. This kind of thing was happening all over. There were just too many of them. They were tenacious as well. Never quitting combat always attacking. This made them easier to shoot down at times but when there are so many of them and they are always boring in on you it gets to be quite bothersome and eventually deadly. We could have beat them that day if we had even a hundred more planes. As it was we returned home with our tails between our legs and many of us got hammered when we landed. It really is hell to be so outnumbered and the truth of it is that we had plenty of pilots, good pilots. Just no bloody planes for them to fly. It was beer and skittles for us from now on.

Those initial raids on our Maintenance Units really did the trick. Not only did they destroy hundreds of surplus planes but they shot up the mechanics pretty well. A real cock up by the top brass. I can’t say as I would have thought those old planes as valuable either. Bloody Reds seem to be one step ahead of us on this one. I would have protected the factories, petrol tanks, munitions and radar myself before even giving a second thought to old Spitfires.

But just like the Japs and Krauts their luck has to run out sooner or later. At least that’s what keeps us going. Even near the end of the last war Jerry almost caught us in the Ardennes. I mean we had complete and I mean utterly complete air superiority and yet he managed to sneak 10 divisions under our very noses while being bombed day and night.

In this business you can never let your guard down, never.

Radar Hunting

Colonel — General Konstantin Virshinin, Commander of the 4th Air Army, seems totally relaxed as he downs a small glass of vodka and lights up a cigarette and sits on the edge of the large desk of his superior. It is late and he has stayed behind after a staff meeting, much to the annoyance of Chief Marshal of Aviation, Alexander Novikov.

“Time to blind RAF Fighter Command Comrade Novikov.”

Marshal Novikov is not pleased with his subordinate’s familiarity and it shows in his body language, which Virshinin seems to ignore.

“I agree comrade Vershinin, but we must not relent on the pressure of attacking the airfields and keeping them non-functional.”

“We can do both comrade.”

“I am transferring a hundred fighter squadrons to the South at the end of the month so we must finish and be done with the English soon. You will follow them there and take command. Your old stomping grounds I believe.”

Virshinin takes on the persona of a teacher and proceeds to pontificate.

“I suggest that reducing the British radar capabilities will severely weaken their resolve comrade Marshal. We can track and triangulate their radar positions quite well now and the Germans from the GEMA factory,[42] those two Yankee spies comrade Beria keeps hidden, and the captured Amerikosi and British radar sets we sent back from Germany and France have been put to good use. They may be able to see our planes positions with their superior radar, but we can now see where their radar is and attack it. I have arranged for special radar hunting units to be assembled and they are ready for your orders comrade. I suggest that we need to blind the RAF now and be done with it.”

Novikov looks straight at Virshinin and slowly replies.

“Bold words Konstantin. Do you have the balls to carry it through?”

Virshinin seems not to notice the warning in Novikov’s tone and continues to relax and talk in the familiar as equal to equal.

“The time is right comrade. With the NKVD’s information, and knowledge we have gained from captured radar sets, it is time to pluck out the eyes of the British once and for all. That would bring them to their knees I am certain. They are a stubborn people, as the Nazi war criminals discovered to their dismay. Losing their eyes just might prove to be the deciding factor.”

Novikov drops his menacing tone for the moment, and seems interested in listening to what Virshinin has to say.

“How many squadrons are needed for your project?”

Once again Virshinin starts to pontificate and walks around Novikov’s office like he belongs there.

“There are close to 100 Chain Home stations operating now. Each squadron should be able to bring down the stations at a rate of two a day. We will attack the towers at their base unlike the Germans. The bases of the towers will be obliterated at our leisure thanks to the excellent plan you devised comrade which has devastated their air operations. You have swept the skies clean by taking away their nests comrade. My pilots will enjoy the bombing practice unmolested by either birds of prey or pesky fly swatters shooting at them from the ground.

The Chain Home Low stations are somewhat mobile. We will have to hunt them down and that will take time. They have a very limited range and only look at low altitudes. If they turn them on then we will catch them. If they leave them off then they are of no use. Many of the stations are on the coast and even our old Pe2s can reach them with ease. It will give the old planes one more chance at glory.”

Vershinin starts to relax even more.

“I once flew the Pe2 in combat comrade.”

Novikov turns away obviously showing distain for what is to follow and starts to light a cigar.

“Yes, I have heard the story many times Colonel-General Vershinin.”

Somewhat taken aback Vershinin replies.

“Then I will not bore you again comrade Marshal.”

“Good!”

Vershinin quickly recovers his composure.

“If you give me 20 squadrons of ground attack aircraft I will create large gaps in their vision in two weeks and pluck out their eyes in three.”

Novikov once again pauses and speaks very slowly and with much emphasis to drive home the point.

“You will have 30 squadrons and two weeks to completely destroy the British radar network.”

Vershinin finally realizes that he may have gone too far, and starts to equivocate.

“But comrade marshal, even with 10 more squadrons… in only 2 weeks it is impossible. We would have to train the new squadrons, get more and heavier bombs shipped to the front, our plans would have to be changed, why the staff time alone would…”

Novikov’s voice drips with irony as he waves his hand in obvious dismissal and walks across the room talking as he moves and opens the door in anticipation of Virshinin’s exit.

“Comrade Stalin will be informed of your promise, and the new deadline. He will expect the results you have proposed. That is all comrade Virshinin.”

Marshal Novikov notices that the usual smirk of familiarity does not appear when they lock eyes. Colonel-General Konstantin Virshinin finally understands what he has done. He puts his glass down and without a word turns and leaves the room.

The headquarters of the Fourth Air Army will be very busy for the next two weeks and then possibly not.

The Last Lightning

I probably flew the last P-38 Lightning over Britain. We were desperate for anything that could fly and me mates Ben and Malcolm located two halves and a third of a P-38L and put it together. They did a bang-on job I will say. Originally most of the plane was a drop-nose recon job but they found enough parts to make it a real L model. The RAF took it over after they got it running and didn’t quite know what to do with it. Malcolm mentioned me and how I was a qualified P-38 driver. I had spent a few months flying the big twin on a kind of exchange program and loved the bird. So they gave me Ben, Malcolm and my main love Edna, my girl, my Lightning. God I love that plane. She got me out of many a scrape and yes I did say love. I still got her. They sold her to me after the ruckus. Can’t afford to fly her much and my arm ain’t working so well but we’ll reach for the sky again soon.

We had kind of a pirate or clandestine operation going on in the backwaters of Edwinstowe right near Sherwood Forest of Robin Hood fame. There was a canopy of trees over quite a large area and we squeezed a Mossie, a Hawker Fury in there along with all the trimmings. We would gas up, taxi between the great oaks and fly way out of the way and come in from different points of the compass so they could never pinpoint where we had come from. When it came time to head for the barn we would make sure we had plenty of petrol and just outran anyone on our tail and when they gave up we would go to our little hideout in the woods. We even painted pirate flags and skull and crossbones on the planes. Probably not a great idea but when you always flew with a Mossie, Fury and a Lightning they will pretty much know who you are. Besides the Reds were painting their planes with all sorts of markings and colors. It was like the old Kraut flying circus for World War One.

I was very familiar with the Lightning because I was sent to gunnery school in the US at the same time that Dick Bong was there. Bong was America’s leading ace even then. A bugger named McGuire was hot on his tail but never did catch him. I had dabbled with the Forked Tailed Devil when the RAF was evaluating them and got quite a few hours in the earlier models. Because of the turbo charger flap the RAF decided not to buy the big bugger. I fell in love at first sight myself and never missed a chance to fly one. As you may know all the guns are in the nose and there is no convergence to worry about. Everything shoots where you are pointed. Dick had just gotten his 28th kill and was home on rotation taking well deserved bows and meeting starlets, selling war bonds, getting engaged and learning how to shoot properly.

Amazing as it seems he was a terrible shot according to his own standards. He could just fly so well that he would out maneuver the best planes in the world and in his words “put his guns in the cockpit” of the enemy plane. He didn’t need to be a good shot. He could do things in that Lightning using those twin engines that would make your hair stand on end. He was the best flyer of any kind I ever saw and that was how he got his first 28 kills at that point. He took a liking to me and showed me some very amazing things that have saved my bacon many a time. When he left that gunnery school he was not only the best flyer in the world but the best shot as well. He never again had to put his guns in the cockpit of the enemy and was a master at deflection shots while spinning that Lightning like a top to get a shot off. Just truly one of the greatest aces of the war.[43]

The model L that me mates put together was much better than the H model I flew earlier. The addition of dive flaps eliminated most of the compressibility problems and we could now dive with the best of them. In fact the P-38 was the only plane flown by Americans to actually mix it up with the Soviets before this latest war and it was by accident over Siberia. It seems the Yanks strafed a command car column and killed a Soviet general. The Reds didn’t much like that and a fight ensued between two squadrons of Yak 3s and P-38s. It’s still hush, hush as to who won that one. Up until May 2nd, 1946 it was the only fight between Russian and American pilots. My girl Edna seemed to understand that and took great pride in sawing old Ivan in half.

We concentrated mainly on the twin engine bombers, those Tu 2 Bats. The Mossie could handle them and going after Yak and Mig fighters took too much time and setup. We would just get vectored by Fighter Command into a gaggle of Bats and let the Mossie break em up and then we would pick off the weak ones and then hightail it before the fighters came. All of our planes were faster than what the Reds were flying at the time. Hit and run to fight another day and back to Sherwood Forest. We did all right for that last month but we knew we weren’t making a dent in the big picture. The Mossie would get maybe one every four sorties, I would get one every three and the Fury would average one in five flights. We must have made 60 flights so my score was around 20, The Mossie 15 and the Fury 12. Not too shabby but not a war winning effort.

The Mossie got caught near the end. They had some souped up La 7 with a lot of red paint on it, who just was in the right position and the right angle to take our friends down. We got some bad petrol that day as well so it might have been that. We were so used to just running away it never occurred to us that the Mossie might get tagged like that. Man she was fast. We were thick as thieves and we raised a toast to Bob and Randy that night with 15 kills, I’m sure they were the leading aces in the Mosquito. It might have been part of a trap as well. So we cooled our heals and then the Yanks decided to really join the war.

Richard Ira Bong — America’s Ace of Aces

Chapter Eighteen:

SAC Awakes

* * *

All men can see these tactics whereby I conquer, but what none can see is the strategy out of which victory is evolved

Sun Tzu

* * *

Hog Heaven

October 1st, 1946

General Curtis LeMay was in hog heaven and deep in thought. He had at his disposal more B-29s than you can shake a stick at, and 4 atomic bombs to boot. He was very pleased with himself as he savored giving the order to start Operation Overwhelming. So pleased that he lit up his third cigar since getting up a 4 am. Operation Clam-Up had worked to perfection as far as all indicators had showed. It was designed to seek out any possible Soviet agent in SAC and to keep what they were doing in Egypt secret. They had been ruthless in selecting all involved in the Strategic Air Command. Ability and experience counted for nothing. Loyalty and family history counted for everything. He himself had almost not made the cut. His father, it seemed, had flirted with attending a union meeting that had communist overtones and his name was on a list. It turned out that his father was drunk that night and never went to the meeting. But that kind of thing was all it took to keep the most talented and capable men from being allowed to join SAC.

Today’s over-flights would tell if the attempt to stem the leaking of secret information to the Soviets named Operation Clam-Up was a success or not. Pathfinders would be launched that would test the Soviets air defenses just 20 minutes before the main attack. Unescorted, high flying B-29s filled with all sorts of measuring devices cameras and even dummy atomic bombs. There were rumors of a very heavy and fast upper atmosphere wind like the one over Japan that had curtailed high level bombing there. Luckily the Japanese had nothing left to defend with at night so he was able to strip his bombers of all defensive armament and let them fire bomb from low altitudes.

Things would not be the same here. All of their reports on the area to be attacked had come from a scattering of sources and they would be flying almost blind. There were no large cities filled with houses made of paper. His targets were oil production facilities. Very hard to hit and very spread out. If they did hit them, they exploded very nicely however, but they could be repaired very quickly as the Germans had demonstrated.

He was looking at an advanced copy of the attacks on Luena synthetic oil production facilities. It was hard work and took 6500 sorties over the course of a year to finally put the damn thing out of commission. He glances down at the synopsis.

“The synthetic oil plants were brought back into partial production and in remarkably short time. But unlike the ball-bearing plants, as soon as they were brought back they were attacked again. The story of Leuna is illustrative. Leuna was the largest of the synthetic plants and protected by a highly effective smoke screen and the heaviest flak concentration in Europe. Air crews viewed a mission to Leuna as the most dangerous and difficult assignment of the air war. Leuna was hit on May 12 and put out of production. However, investigation of plant records and interrogation of Leuna’s officials established that a force of several thousand men had it in partial operation in about 10 days. It was again hit on May 28 but resumed partial production on June 3 and reached 75 percent of capacity in early July. It was hit again on July 7 and again shut down but production started 2 days later and reached 53 percent of capacity on July 19. An attack on July 20 shut the plant down again but only for three days; by July 27 production was back to 35 percent of capacity. Attacks on July 28 and 29 closed the plant and further attacks on August 24, September 11, September 13, September 28 and October 7 kept it closed down. However, Leuna got started again on October 14 and although production was interrupted by a small raid on November 2, it reached 28 percent of capacity by November 20. Although there were 6 more heavy attacks in November and December (largely ineffective because of adverse weather), production was brought up to 15 percent of capacity in January and was maintained at that level until nearly the end of the war. From the first attack to the end, production at Leuna averaged 9 percent of capacity. There were 22 attacks on Leuna, 20 by the Eighth Air Force and 2 by the RAF. Due to the urgency of keeping this plant out of production, many of these missions mere dispatched in difficult bombing weather. Consequently, the order of bombing accuracy on Leuna was not high as compared with other targets. To win the battle with Leuna a total of 6,552 bomber sorties were flown against the plant, 18,328 tons of bombs were dropped and an entire year was required.”[44]

Luckily the atomic bomb was made for this kind of thing. Surprise dictated that they not show their hand before they were ready. Now they were ready.

The plan was for the Pathfinders to identify and measure that wind and to calculate how it would affect the four remaining atomic bombs in the US arsenal. How would a 200 mph wind push a 10,000 lb iron casing filled with plutonium around he had no idea but the eggheads said they had all sorts of measuring devices to do the job. He was told he had just one shot. Even now the commies were moving defensive forces from the Channel to the area he was attacking. Informants in France have been filling the dead drop locations of M-I6 and the OSS for days with tales of massive amounts of fighters being transferred to the Black Sea area. They were still in transit but they were coming and coming fast.

Convoys of those damn guided missiles were seen as well. It was time and he knew it. He was not one to shirk from making a hard decision and making it by the seat of his pants. This one could win or lose this war, but then again so had many others he had made. He was supremely confident in his abilities and of the seat in his pants.

He turned and gave his commanders the signal to go. Nothing fancy just a formal salute from his perch in the makeshift control tower in the middle of the Egyptian desert. The Pathfinders were already lined up and idling their engines. 20 of them would proceed the 8 Silverplate Superfortress bombers with four atomic bombs by a mere 20 minutes. This was calculated as the fastest any Soviet interceptor available could scramble up to 32,000 feet and still catch the B-29s. All were powered by the new Pratt & Whitney R-4360 Wasp Major engine to reduce any chance of engine failure that had plagued the B-29 design from the outset.[45] It was truly amazing to LeMay that the B-29 had made it to production.

He may have cancelled the whole program a long time ago if he had been in charge. What with the problem plagued bomber costing incredible amounts of money to develop it was a wonder that it had not been cancelled by others. They could have used the British Lancaster to drop the atomic bomb so that was not a valid reason. They had not been able to take advantage of the bombers enormous service ceiling because of the inaccuracy of bombing from that height. He was glad to have them now however, even if for just this one mission. He knew that was not the plan in the long run. He was ordered to launch the giant bombers time after time until either the targets were destroyed or until he ran out of them. If they didn’t accomplish the mission then they would be used for bait. As a distraction for other operations. One hell of an expensive fishing lure he mused.

Many were convinced that the day of the strategic bomber was over since the introduction of that damn missile by the Reds. What were they calling it… oh yeah “Stalin’s Fire”. Catchy name that’s for sure. The damn thing was less than 20% or so effective from all reports but when you shot hundreds of them at a time then you got something to worry about, and they were getting more effective as well. Why in the hell can’t our eggheads out smart theirs? We’re supposed to be the best and if not us then the Brits certainly have a great track record.

He watched as the first Pathfinder and its load of scientists lumbered down the run way. The clouds of black then blue smoke were coming from the other conventionally powered B29s. It really irked him that they still hadn’t solved the god damn oil leak problem in these wonders of technology. What the hell can be so hard about finding what was causing these massive leaks of oil? Hell if the commies attacked all he had to do was start all the B29s and he would have an instant smoke screen. They sure were beautiful when they finally lifted off. Just wonderful once they started to fly. The thought of those chicken shit guided missiles knocking them out of the sky and his brave men with them was almost too much to bear.

He had steeled himself to the massive casualties that would be caused by the four atomic bombs he was about to drop on the Soviet Union. He comforted himself with the knowledge that this time they were to be used for purely military targets and not helpless cities filled with women, children and the infirmed. There was no way to properly time the dropping two bombs in one place. The explosion from one could affect the other or even the other bomber if they were not in total synchronization. The scientist didn’t recommend it anyway due to unforeseen consequences.

He was totally amazed when he learned that a good portion of the scientists who worked on the Manhattan Project fully believed that the explosion would set off a chain reaction that would never end and turn the earth into a chard piece of rock. Yet they went ahead with working on the project anyway. How in the world could you work on a project you thought would end the world? He would never understand eggheads and thank god they were wrong. No need to test the theory further.

He had heard that some of them wanted to build an even bigger bomb out of hydrogen. What the hell for! These ones were big enough. He would have liked more of them but that was not in the cards for now.

Williams came by his side and waited until the noise of the last bomber allowed conversation and not a yelling match.

“Sir that is the last of the pathfinders.”

“Thank you Colonel.”

“The Silverplates will be following soon.”

“Very good Williams. You came up with a fine plan son. I’m sure it will be executed just like we planned and have practiced for the last 2 months. How many dummy runs did we do in all?

“12 in all sir.”

“The last 3 were successful and that’s what matters now. Three in a row means that they have the timing down right and it will work I have confidence in these crews… now.”

“It was a hard training sir. We sure could have used some of the old hands. Too bad they washed out because of the tight security.”

“Yes you are right son. We missed them sorely. Many even enlisted again and then got the bad news and were regulated to the old Army Air Force in Spain flying the B17 again or should I say not flying since that last disastrous raid by the Brits. They seem to have our number and only complete surprise will make this mission work. According to G2 we should catch them with their pants down today. This could be the beginning of the end of the war Williams. If we pull this off old Joe will be in a real bad fix and if the stories are true people in high places will start to disappear.”

“I would like to point out sir, that Stalin seems to have a high tolerance for failure during times of war. Zhukov and gang made plenty of bad mistakes early on and still kept their jobs.”

“Let’s hope that is not the case this time.”

“There goes the first Silverplate sir”

The Silverplate named Three Feathers was lumbering down the east runway and everything was looking nominal. As she gained speed a slight cough in outboard starboard engine cause all watching to hold their breath. Vision of the Bikini disaster were at the back, and now the fore of the minds of those watching. It turns out she chopped up a small bird and that was what was caused the cloud of debris. Probably one of the pigeons that hung around the airfield. Next was Straight Flush then Big Stink and finally Necessary Evil. Fifi and The Great Artiste where idling on stand-by.

Thank God for those new engines, LeMay thought. Without them a good 10% or more wouldn’t make it to the target due to engine god damn failure. We lost more god damn planes due to engine failure then to enemy action.

About half of the crew members were rookies but the pilots and co-pilots were old hands that had made it through the FBIs rigorous investigations and into SAC personnel. Many old hands, experienced hands, had problems with their private lives according to the FBI. You were never told what was wrong just transferred or turned down during recruitment. No appeal and no recourse for redress. You just didn’t make it. Of course everyone in the service knew who tried and didn’t make it so your career was pretty much over. This of course hurt recruitment of the veterans and decimated the Army Air Corps stripping it of some of its finest pilots and mechanics.

It’s amazing, LeMay thought, how much damage a spy ring can cause even unintentionally. We lost a lot of good men who could have help us win this war that are now selling insurance or cars. The ugly reality of unintended consequences comes into play.

“There goes Straight Flush sir,” Williams commented even though LeMay could easily see for himself.

LeMay started thinking about those unescorted 24 bombers and wondered; Should I have used the P-80 Shooting Stars based in Turkey, Cyprus and Rhodes? They could have easily made the flight but that would have shown my hand for upcoming operations. We have a chance to surprise the hell out of them twice and he didn’t want to jeopardize that. Hell maybe he could pull off a third one if they took the bait and attacked Rhodes and Cyprus which were surrounded by aircraft carriers filled with fighters just waiting to take on the Reds.

He would be losing some of those carriers as they were scheduled to clear the skies over Britain. Those Limeys had put up a great fight but they were on their last legs. God damn they had done their job and their leadership knew what their job was. It was to sacrifice themselves so that his bombers could get to the oil, plain and simple. They had done a masterful job but now it was time to end their suffering and to bring them the peace they deserved. Thank god the Reds had not decided to bomb cities. I don’t think Washington would have allowed that and that would have put a big monkey wrench into his operations.

Now for the long wait. The wait to hear the results. God I hate the wait more than flying in combat. I much rather be up there with those boys. The second phase would launch tomorrow using conventional bombs with fighter escorts with the targets depending on the results today. I pray to God that those monstrous winds that were blowing over Japan do not play a role in this campaign against the godless Reds. If they are present then we have to give up our major advantage in order to get the job done… altitude. We will have to god damn bomb from under 24,000 or less if those devil winds are there. Why did God have them? What purpose can they serve? Mine is not to question the All Mighty but it’s hard not to Oh Lord. Those winds are going to cost us thousands of lives if they are there. I ask you once again to hear my prayer Oh Lord…

“Excuse me sir but they have all taken off and are on course for their targets.”

“Well Williams here’s hoping that this day will live on in history. October 2nd, 1946 the beginning of Operation Overwhelming should bring Stalin’s war machine to its knees. This could be the D-day of World War Three Williams. Mark my words on this day the oil fields and refineries of Baku, Grozny, Polesti and Armavir will cease to exist and so will 75% of the oil production facilities of one Joseph Stalin.”

50 Berkeley Square Redux

Things were almost back to normal. The activity in the basement had slackened steadily. From what I could ascertain the little red blocks were winning. Every day the blue ones were less and less. The ratio had grown from about 5 to 1 to now around 10 to 1. Yet the people around the tables, and in the little offices, seemed unusually elated today. I noticed that some more blue blocks had appeared where I remembered Scotland was. This apparently was the cause of the noisy celebration that had brought me once again down the air shaft and into the basement.

That especially malevolent individual, that I thought I might have to have an encounter with, had disappeared. I hoped he was dead and would suffer the purgatory I was enduring. You could wish nothing better on your worst enemy. My curiosity had gotten the better of me and I had touched the man just a week before he left and what I saw even disconcerted me beyond my wildest expectations. I discovered that the man’s actual name was Marcel André Henri Félix Petiot and he had escaped the guillotine when this latest fight in France had started. He was scheduled to die by decapitation on May 23, 1946 but a stray bomb had enabled his escape from his holding cell in Paris on the 20th.

This man was a monster in the true sense of the word. He prayed on the desperate in Paris during the Occupation mostly in 1942-1943. It seems that he and three accomplishes spread the word that they could facilitate the escape of anyone from the Nazi dragnet and attracted many Jews and criminals who were running for their lives. Marcel Petiot was an actual doctor and former mayor and that held various other offices of import in pre-war France. He constantly embezzled from every town, province or institution he was associated with. Millions of francs slipped into his pockets. He consequently was thrown out of office as frequently as he was elected or appointed.

His favorite form of recreation was opiates and used the same drug on many of his patients, killing some in the process. He was indicted and sanctioned numerous times for the over prescription of these drugs. Yet the desperate kept seeking him out. He and his associated would convince the unfortunate that he or she would be whisked to Argentina or Portugal etc. for a mere fee of 25,000 francs. Once they had paid and were under his control he would inoculate them “on the insistence of the Argentine government”. Having no intention, nor the ability, to carry out his promised duties, he would kill his victims by injecting them with cyanide.

Initially his henchmen would dispose of the bodies by depositing them in the Seine. During 1942 and 1943 body parts were popping up like corks in the river like clockwork. Eventually they started using quick lime and then finally incineration in a cast iron stove in the basement of 21 Rue Le Suer. Some were identified, many were not. The Paris police was not interested in investigating dead Jews in the height of the occupation.

The Gestapo heard of this legendary underground escape route and coerced a Jew, Yvan Dreyfus, into approaching the network for passage, but Dreyfus vanished with the rest in May 1943. Eventually the Germans actually caught and tortured confessions out of Dr. Petoit’s and his gang. They long suspected that the gang was actually smuggling out the Jews and others, and were actually relieved when they found out the they were just being murdered instead. The Germans somehow overlooked 21 Rue Le Sueur in their investigation and since Petoit was only killing Jews they amazingly, let them all go after 8 months of torture and confessions.

The Dr. took up his old habits after being released. He was finally caught by the French police when he was too enthusiastic in burning the bodies on March 11th, 1944 and the ensuing smoke and stench alarmed his neighbors who called the authorities. They discovered a roaring fire made up of human legs and arms acting as kindling along with other remains strew about the premises of 21 Rue Le Sueur. They also found partially decomposed bodies buried in quicklime at other locations owned by the Dr.Penoit. All toll the body count was over 60.

The doctor escaped after actually showing up in front of his house as it was being searched. He was confronted by a policeman but manage to escape. He was on his bicycle and was not caught until the war was just about over. Even though the trial was held in Vichy France, the story was so salacious that it made international news, and even crowded out the news of the war on certain days. Despite a spirited defense by the doctor himself, he was convicted and was set to meet Mr. Guillotine on May 23rd 1946. Then just another amazing happenstance in this ghoul’s life occurred when a stray bomb collapsed part of the jail in which he was being held. 24 other prisoners, including Dr. Petoit, made their escape.[46]

Petoit must have had a secret of cash and false identities because he disappeared from Paris and eventually France. He ended up not far away in London and convinced the authorities that he was an expert in supply and was drafted to work as the head of supply for the RAF Fighter Command control room at 50 Berkeley Square. This is where I encountered him much to my dismay. You see I cannot directly kill or hurt living beings. Oh I have tried but my hands, feet and even teeth just pass right through the intended victim and they are never the worse for wear. If the conditions are right I can cause a very high degree of fright and even permanent damage by revealing myself. But the conditions have to be right. My chance looked like it would never come concerning Dr. Petoit and he just didn’t show up one day for his assigned duties. I overheard conversations about him just disappearing but no one knew what ever happened to him.

Hopefully he was killed by a stray bullet or contracted consumption or some other dread disease. Then as luck would have it he showed up late one night and snuck upstairs to my usual room where I tended to exist. At first I did not recognize him. He had lost a great deal of weight and looked like a hunted man. He was dressed in tattered clothing and looked like your common street person. I was planning on just scaring this beggar away when that feeling of wickedness came over me and when he took off his hat. I saw who he was.

Now the truly wicked are much easier to scare and haunt then the righteous. Something to do with a good imagination for the macabre I surmise. You have to have a fertile mind in order to do the things that the Dr. did to his victims. I knew that I had to set the stage properly and had only one chance to end this reprehensible excuse for a human life once and for all. He had to wait for the right moment and somehow lure him gently so that he was out in the hall with his back to the rail before I revealed himself in all my horror. I was in fact a horror to those who ever saw me. I had no idea what I looked like, as the mirror did not reflect my image back to me. The look on the few who did deserve my appearance was unmistakable.

Oh, how the Dr. deserved to look upon my countenance. The timing had to be such that the Dr. would jump backwards and press forcefully against the weak part of the railing and fall four stories to the basement hopefully hitting vital parts all the way down. It had been a long time since I had made himself appear and I was hoping I remembered how to make my presence known. It was not a skill that you can practice as it cause all sorts of commotion and consternation to the people involved and if no one else was around I had no idea if it worked or not. Rats to not make a great audience for this kind of thing.

For whatever reason I was not given the ability of a poltergeist so I could not make a sound nor move objects. I did not know how it was determined why I was trapped in this house nor why I was not allowed to do what normal specters can do. I had tried to both move things and make a noise but to no avail. I could only become an apparition of the most hideous variety instantly. I did catch someone talking about the stories of one of my rare appearances and it sounded like I was missing my nose and one eye was hanging from an eye socket and I had fangs with a long black tongue emitting from my mouth. Again I wished I could see my countenance just once.

The Dr. made himself comfortable and appeared to be here for the night. Luckily he was facing the door and was about to nod off when I made sure to just barely catch his eye with the movement of my hand disappearing through the door and into the hallway. He jumped up with a start and a knife was in his hand rather quickly. After a short hesitation he slowly approached the door and opened it a crack. I once again showed myself and move quickly, as only a ghost can, past the door so he could just catch a glimpse of movement. He jumped back and then rushed out into the hall with knife drawn. I had by the that time gone through the wall and circled around the now empty room and waited for him to once again turn towards the open door and put his back to the railing.

He stared long and hard at the dead-end hallway and then started to turn to his left back towards the open door. This was my chance. I jumped out in all my hideous glory and gave what I thought was a stellar performance of malice, threat and evil intentions. He didn’t react, he just stood there and stared at me. It took a full second for him to react and react he did. He quickly turned and ran full force into the railing which didn’t break to my surprise. He was moving so fast however that he cartwheel right over the rail and fell screaming down the full four stories only hitting his arm once on the third floor which sent him spinning even faster. He fell for what seemed like ages and then hit with a satisfying thwack and never moved again. His blood quickly pooling around him started for the drain in the floor before anyone came to see what the noise was all about.

I must have been still visible as the first young lady that appeared looked first at the body and then up at me and only then started to scream and promptly fainted on the Dr.’s body. I did what I do to become invisible again and moved down the stair shaft as more people poked their heads and looked at the dead body and the damsel in distress that was now on top of said body. A few shivered as I slid past them on my way down but no one saw me. Some of the men came and rescued the fair maiden who was felled by my appearance and all returned to normal quite quickly. I was quite disappointed as no one seemed to recognize the Dr. and I feared that my accomplishment was not to be recognized for what it was.

I never did learn if my involvement in the whole affair was appreciated or not. Shortly after I reached the bottom and was watching the men deal with the body and attempting to revive the young lady, I saw the light that many have described upon death. I rushed towards it with all my heart, and now apparently, my soul.

Chapter Eighteen:

The Current Situation

Soviet Empire October, 1946

* * *

All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.

Sun Tzu

* * *

“The Gate Crashers” by Ranger Elite

Intelligence in WWIII 1946

0230

Outside the Lubyanka Prison,

In Feliks Dzherzinsky Square,

Moscow, The U.S.S.R.

It was half past two in the morning, and there was an electric feeling in the air. Though he had been here many times before, he could not help feeling excitement and dread all at once. He had reached the most impenetrable part of the Soviet Union, having crafted as close to an impeccable and unassailable alias as humanly possible, and having had help in doing so, for himself and his team, from the Ukrainian Insurgent Army, with whom he still had contacts. The Lubyanka was, perhaps, the most guarded government building in all of the Soviet Union, obviously after the Kremlin and Stalin’s personal dacha.

He took a moment and drew a deep breath, gathered up his courage and proceeded to play his part: he boldly went up to the guard post and announced himself, in Tatar-accented Russian, as NKVD Colonel Maksim Avramyevich Shtein, Special Prosecutor for Hitlerite War Crimes Against the Soviet People. This allowed him to have unfettered access to the target and the target’s associates. Yes, it was a ballsy move, but it was now or never, since the target’s execution date had been moved up, to the day after tomorrow. He was banking on the fact that he closely resembled the Cheka prosecutor and that not many people outside Stalin’s Inner Circle knew what he actually looked like. It would take only a matter of a few days, maybe only hours, for the actual Shtein to be found, murdered, in his Arbat office.

Through the months of planning, weapons and keys had been pre-positioned, escape routes and diversions were planned, plans were devised and revised, again and again, until they knew the final plan and could execute it in their sleep. Each man was smart enough to improvise, and deviate from the plan, if they absolutely needed to. Everything that could be done had already been done in support of this operation. All that was left was the execution of the plan.

He boldly and confidently strode through the halls of the infamous prison, barking orders and making his way to the basement dungeon, where the target and his cohorts were being held, only occasionally being challenged and being passed through. As he reached the final checkpoint, he fingered the hilt of the blade strapped to his wrist, and ordered the NKVD guard to open the cell block. The guard stated that he needed permission from the guard commander to do that. As the hapless guard turned to reach for the telephone, he never saw the blade that slashed his exposed throat, causing geysers of blood to gush from the carotid artery that had just been so brutally severed. The fake NKVD officer merely stepped a safe distance away to keep the blood from splashing against his pristine uniform. As the guard finished bleeding out, he wiped the blade of his knife against the poor bastard’s uniform and grabbed his keys. Before unlocking the cell door, he cut the electrical wire that connected the lock to an alarm that sounded when the key made contact with the wire. Having done that, he unlocked the cell door and announced to everyone there that they were getting out. At first, having been blinded by the dim lights from the hallway, they could now see clearly that an NKVD officer was standing before them, and they immediately thought that this would be the end of them.

As he unshackled each of them in turn, he told them that they had absolutely no time to waste, they must leave immediately or be executed on the spot. Only momentarily shocked, they readily complied and followed Shtein.

His team, having taken their supporting positions earlier, before his entry, were now in their NKVD uniforms and now joined him, armed like a guard detail, allowing for the appearance of “Shtein” transferring the high-value prisoners, presumably for final interrogation and “liquidation.” As the final member of the “guard detail” joined them, he and “Shtein” began quietly conversing, the new stranger speaking a heavily foreign-accented Russian, like a German. The prisoners certainly looked all of the pitiful part they were encouraged to play, if they were going to pull the caper off. As they neared the front gate of the Lubyanka, the first alarm began to sound and orders were given to lock down the prison. Fighting their way out had always been a part of the plan.

The fake guard detail, dragging their prisoners with them, assaulted the front gate, firing their submachine guns and automatic rifles, slowly making their way to the front gate. They braved the withering fire from the NKVD soldiers inside the prison… then there were very loud explosions that came from the front gate that concussed everyone who was within range. “Shtein” and the guard detail recovered as quickly as they could and continued to drive on to the obliterated front gate, still dragging the prisoners along, but beginning to take heavy casualties now. Quickly crossing the courtyard of the prison, they were in sight of their smoky, smoldering, ruined objective. The foreigner gave “Shtein” an order and detailed two of the “guards” to go with him. “Shtein” and his men pulled the prisoners with them, while the rest of the “guard detail” remained behind and delayed the real NKVD soldiers from catching them. It seemed that this was an integral part of the escape plan all along.

The fake NKVD officer and his men got the prisoners across the ruined gate, into the square, boarding waiting trucks which sped off into the night. During the next few days, while they were on the run, they had heard what the fate of their compatriots, that so bravely stayed behind to allow them to escape, was: Soviet propaganda claimed that in their desperate assault on Soviet order and murdering heroic Soviet soldiers in the process, they had ultimately been unsuccessful in their mission, and had all taken the coward’s way out. They knew that it was all a lie. However, what was true was the identity of the dead ringleader as reported by the Soviet Pravda News Agency: the leader of the dastardly attack was none other than the infamous Otto Skorzeny, architect and commander of the Gran Sasso raid, which freed Benito Mussolini from a mountain-fortress prison and delayed complete Italian capitulation to the Allies until the end of the war. The crude photos of NKVD soldiers posing with Skorzeny’s mutilated and desecrated corpse were splashed in full gory detail all across every copy of Pravda and Izvestia they came across. They all felt he deserved better.

As they crossed the Soviet frontier into China, “Shtein” took the occasion to reintroduce himself to the men he had broken out of prison, which included Wilfried Strik-Strikfeld, Helmuth von Pannwitz, Timofey Domanov, Andrei Shkuro, Pyotr Krasnov, and last but most definitely not least, Andrei Andreyevich Vlasov. These were the most influential anti-communist Russian leaders of the Russian Liberation Movement, whom the Ukrainian Insurgent Army was promised military assistance to aid in their escape from custody, and from the Soviet Union. Most of them had an idea who “Shtein” really was, but none of them had ever really met him personally. “Shtein” was none other than the renowned Abwehr spy “Artur Holmston” and commander of Sonderkommando R and the First Russian National Army, General Boris Smyslovsky.

As Smyslovsky and the other leaders of the Russian Liberation Movement reached the Chinese Turkestan city of Urum-chi, where there had already been a training facility set up and expatriate Russian troops and Soviet Red Army deserters were already being armed and formed into units. The generous American and Chinese military aid helped make all this possible, and now they would begin to hold up their end and infiltrate the Soviet frontier, to strike at the very heart of the communist juggernaut and bring it down, for good.

“Time To Beat Feet” By Ranger Elite

Intelligence in WWIII 1946

2150

Eastern Shoreline,

Near Vladivostok, U.S.S.R.

It was getting darker sooner, and brutally colder, and their time was up. Time for them to go. Markov had spread the word among his men that they would be on the move tonight; that the fishing trawler would meet up with them at the arranged time and place, to take them to a place only he knew at this moment. To this point, he had been successful, and he hoped that it would stay that way.

All the men met up where they had stashed their boats a couple weeks before and dug them out, began inflating them for the quarter-hour trip back. Halfway through the chore, a patrol of NKVD Frontier Guards passed by them… they stopped what they were doing and hid in the shadows and hoped that nothing out of the ordinary was noticed. A short while later, the NKVD patrol went away to investigate something more worthy of their malevolent attention. The men resumed, with renewed haste, their task and promptly cast off from the shoreline. During the trip out, Markov couldn’t help but review the information that they had gathered in his head: there was little in the way of Red Fleet units here, as most of them had been transferred west before the war, to supplement the Baltic Sea and Black Sea Red Banner Fleets. What the Red Fleet had at its Pacific Headquarters was pathetic: an ice breaker and a motley collection of coastal gunboats, most dating back to the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-05. All the modern equipment was going to the NKVD Sea Frontier Guards. Navy men would grumble a bit about it, but never too loudly, for fear of disappearing into of one of the many infamous bottomless salt mines that the region was notorious for. As for the Red Army, there were mostly Category B units, mostly manned by invalids from the last war, still wishing to continue doing their patriotic duty. Who was Uncle Joe to deny them that? All the first-line Army units were either west, occupying Europe, or in Manchuria, training the Chinese communists, who got walloped shortly after the new Chinese president, came to power. The Red Chinese took a hard hit, but the rumor has it that they’re gearing up for a counter-offensive, and just received tons of captured equipment from western Europe that they’re trying to make usable…

Markov notices a bright wavering light on the water: fire, and in the spot where the trawler was supposed to be. He passed the word along for his men to be ready, especially as they slowed the rubber boats down and began to use paddles to maneuver silently around the flaming oil slicks and debris on the water. Markov spotted it first: an NKVD Sea Frontier Guard Lend-Lease patrol torpedo boat. At that moment, he decided that he and his men were going to take it. Markov signaled to the men to creep as close as possible to the PT boat without being seen. In what seemed like hours, Markov and his men finally reached the side of the ship and rushed the boat as savagely as possible, taking out the crew as quickly as possible, killing a few outright, and tossing the rest into the freezing waters of the Sea of Japan, to die a slow and agonizing death of hypothermia. They quickly pull their rubber boats aboard to deny the Russians any chance of escape, and open up the throttle to head to the friendly waters of Japan, if they had enough fuel. Markov hauled down the NKVD ensign and hoisted the Stars and Stripes, the one that he’d stowed with their escape gear. They would still get their information back to Far East Allied Headquarters and the plan might yet still proceed.

“The Wild Blue Yonder” By Rangerelite

Home Front in WWIII 1946

0930

Hangar Number One,

Temporary Command and Control Base,

Andrews Air Force Base

(formerly Andrews Army Airfield),

Outside Langley, Virginia

The day was a bit chilly and overcast, but there was nothing that could ruin this day for the men and women assembled here today. They all stood at attention for the President of the United States of America, Mr. Harry S Truman, as he passed them all down the aisle, on his way to the hastily-built, but well-constructed, dais. President Truman takes his seat, and everyone else takes theirs.

“In well-deserved recognition of the service and sacrifice that your military arm has given and continues to give, it is on behalf of the American people that I, acting in concert with the United States Congress, grant you concrete appreciation for your service and sacrifice” President Truman looks to his left, to a serious-looking General of the Army, Carl Spaatz, the newly-appointed Commanding General, U.S. Army Air Forces, then to his right to U.S. Army Chief of Staff, General of the Army, Dwight Eisenhower, and then continues, “by separating the Air Forces from the Army and granting them an independent military branch of their own, The United States Air Force. Carl Spaatz has been confirmed by the United States Senate as its very first Chief of Staff, with the newly-created rank of General of the Air Force.”

“As you all know, this war with the Soviets was none of our own contrivance, but by God, we will finish it! If Uncle Joe thinks he can lick us with his stolen Nazi wonder-doodads, he has another thing coming! We have the power of righteousness on our side!” By this time, President Truman was pounding on the lectern positioned on the dais, causing the microphones to feedback a few times, “And as long as we have the power of righteousness on our side, we cannot go wrong!” At that, all the Air Force personnel were on their feet, loudly whooping and hollering, chanting things such as “USA! USA!”, “Smash the Reds!” or “Remember Frankfurt!” the last chant was an allusion to the battle which incurred the loss of the bulk of the USAAF’s aircraft in Continental Europe and a fair number of irreplaceable combat personnel: pilots, aircrew and ground crew, and the need for the new military branch to exact its vengeance.

At that moment, General of the Air Force Carl Andrew Spaatz got up and restored order “Men and women of the United States Air Force, this is your charge: master and kill the enemy with the utmost efficiency and ferocity, as you have been trained to do, and you will never lose the fight. You are now excused; return to your posts.” The most senior Air Force Master Sergeant called out “Ten-HUT!” and all present filed out, as soon as the President and Chiefs of Staff of the Army and the Air Force were clear of the hangar.

As Generals Eisenhower and Spaatz accompanied the President in the limousine, the President asked them both, “How are the plans progressing, gentlemen?” They proceeded with their portion of the briefing, before they got to the White House. When they arrived there, they were joined by the Chief of Naval Operations, Fleet Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, and the Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Alexander A. Vandergrift, and sat down to business.

Before they started, the President pressed an intercom button “Would you please send in Special Agent James Carroll and General Kenney?” “Yes, Mr. President” was the response from his receptionist. A moment later, both General George Kenney and James Carroll, who was a Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigations and former Assistant Director under J. Edgar Hoover, step into the room and waved to seats at the table by President Truman. Carroll was tapped by President Truman, and the late General “Hap” Arnold, to head the Army Air Force’s new Office of Special Investigation, tasked with rooting out security risks in the nation’s combat aviation services. On the Navy’s side, the Office of Naval Intelligence’s counterintelligence service has weeded out several spies and communist sympathizers, and Special Agent Carroll has done yeoman’s work over the past several months in making progress toward the same end. To date, there are quite a few Army Air Force officers and enlisted men in the Leavenworth Penitentiary due to his efforts. And not a few of those had high security clearances, which necessitated their being held in solitary confinement.

“Agent Carroll, would you please brief us on the progress of your investigation as to communist infiltration of the nation’s air forces?” said the President. Carroll stands up “As you well know, Mr. President and gentlemen, there was a serious issue with information being passed onto Soviet agents, resulting in their foreknowledge of our battle plans and their knowledge of our tactics and equipment. As a result of a deep and humanly-thorough investigation, I have reason to believe that we have completely vetted every security-clearance holding member of the U.S. Armed Forces, in conjunction with the Army’s Counter Intelligence Corps and the Navy’s Office of Naval Intelligence. It is my belief that we can reasonably trust the members of our planning staffs to move forward toward the next step of this war: the impending counteroffensive.” All the flag officers were now listening intently to him now.

He continued “as a result of this strenuous investigative effort, I can confidently recommend that the Strategic Air Command be reintegrated into the United States Air Force, provided that my security recommendations are strictly followed. It is my further belief that a Defense Intelligence Agency should be formed to oversee a coordinated counterintelligence effort to ensure that this level of infiltration of our most effective and sensitive military resources never happens again.” All the men nodded their agreement, none of them except for the President caring very much for the Central Intelligence Agency, especially in light of the fact that they have been draining away their best and brightest intelligence assets and resources over the past few months. Spaatz and Kenney pass a non-descript look between each other, then the President speaks up, after the generals have digested the information for a moment “To ensure that the security recommendations of Agent Carroll are rigidly enforced, Generals Spaatz and Kenney will oversee the formation of a permanent Office of Special Investigations within the Air Force, with Carroll in charge. Agent Carroll will be inducted into the Air Force Reserve, with the rank of Colonel, to perform this duty.” All the men again nodded their agreement.

The President continued “If we have finished with this, let’s move onto other business, gentleman. General Eisenhower, how is the progress of the Corps of Engineers’ building the new airfields in Turkey and on Cyprus?” “Progress is steady, Mr. President, considering the secret nature of the operation. A parallel project in Palestine by the Free Russian Air Force is also progressing, near a place called Tel Aviv. There are intelligence reports that local Jewish paramilitary units are providing security for the rebel Russians.” General Eisenhower told the President. “Do you trust these Russians, General Eisenhower? Can we collaborate with them to get these projects finished in the allotted time? More importantly, do we have trusted friends among them?” the President asks. General Vandergrift speaks up “We have had some informal dealings with these people in China. They seem to be fairly straight-forward, if somewhat crude, and they tend to keep their word, no doubt to advance their own agenda. Perhaps we may not have friends among them now, but they could be useful strategic allies.”

Fleet Admiral Nimitz joins the conversation “I think we need to proceed cautiously as far as enlisting these rebel Russians as our allies. ’Enemy of my enemy’ will only go so far, considering that recent history is replete with allies turning on us. Otherwise, I think it is a capital idea to use them to knock the Soviets off-balance and gain the upper hand.” President Truman nods and asks Nimitz “How goes that special project in Newport, Admiral?”

“Proceeding on schedule, Mr. President. The conversions are proceeding according to plan, and training is going faster and rougher than I would like for the Marines and Naval aviators, but I’m absolutely positive that all will be ready by X-Day, sir.”

President Truman nods and they all discuss strategy for a while longer, before he dismisses them for the day. He takes a moment to reflect on what a terrible responsibility was dumped in his lap by Frank Roosevelt, “You dirty lucky bastard” he thought.

Chapter Nineteen:

The Big Bang

Atomic bomb blast over Baku

* * *

When the enemy is at ease, be able to weary him; when well fed, to starve him; when at rest, to make him move. Appear at places to which he must hasten; move swiftly where he does not expect you.

Sun Tzu

* * *

Finnegan’s Wake

The flight over the East Mediterranean was uneventful. Nick was amazed at how comfortable this beauty was compare to the B17s he had started out in. He couldn’t imagine being at this altitude going for this distance in any other aircraft. He could actually stretch out a little and he had a view from the gunner position. The only gunner position that still had a gun was the tail gunner. All of the other guns had been stripped and the aircraft filled with machines for measuring all that was necessary to determine how to drop an atomic bomb from as high as possible while passing through what might be a 200 mph stream of air who knows how thick.

That wind at high altitudes had first raised its ugly head over Japan. That was why LeMay had decided to come in under it and use fire bombs. Of course this negated all the features that made the B29 a special plane. The Japanese where helpless by that time, against any kind of bomber. Their fighters had been decimated in various battles over the Pacific and their anti-aircraft guns and radar were not that formidable. Oh they did get lucky far too often but not enough to deter LeMay.

The wind over Japan was at 25,000 ft and their job was to find it over Baku in time to calculate how fast it was and how much it would affect a 10,000 lb atomic bomb. They had 20 minutes to drop their dummy bombs and then make the calculations. He was there basically as an observer as no one expected any kind of Red plane to be able to make it up to 32,000 where they were going to drop their instruments and the dummy bomb from. The other planes were going to do most of the measuring as they had the actual fake bomb that everyone would be measuring, which took up enormous amounts of space in their Silverplate.

For most of the trip they were over friendly territory in Turkey. Friendly was a relative term in his mind. As a boy he had read many a story of about the Ottoman Empire and blood thirsty pirates etc. associated with Turkey. For now they were secret allies but as soon as the Soviets discovered where the fighters were coming from in later raids there would be no hiding the fact that the Turks had been with us all along. He wondered how the Reds would react. He had heard that the Turkish army was not in any shape to stand up against any concerted Red attack.

At 10,000 feet he had to retire from the relative comfort of the main area where he could be with the other crew members. At that point the majority of the plane had to be pressurized, all but the station for the rear gunner that is. That is why he had to make his way to the back and close the hatch so that the rest of the crew could enjoy relative comfort while he was regulated to the tribulations of non-pressurized flight. It was not anywhere near as bad as the B17 mind you but still not the luxury his crew mates enjoyed.

As they passed over the Caucuses he really felt far from home. Without knowing it he was nearer his ancestral home than ever before. His grandfather and grandmother had come from Grozny. The very city his mission was about to eradicate from the earth. Had he hoped all his relatives had move on long ago. He had not brought up this fact when he was questioned about joining SAC. His Grandparents had lived in France for 20 years before coming to the US so he didn’t feel the need to bring up the fact that they were originally from Grozny. He barely knew them for God’s sake. He was third generation American and his relatives had run away from the coming revolution and to avoid fighting in the previous wars as well.

The highest peaks of the Caucus Mountains were about 15,000 feet or so but even at 32,000 they looked pretty formidable. He was looking for the highest peak they would see on their flight path and it should be off to his left or the Southeast as they were getting close to the target since he was looking backwards. When he could see that peak they were getting very close.

As he was staring intently trying to find the mountain a very small movement caught his eye. It had a contrail coming from it!

“Skipper, we have company! over”

“What the hell are you talking about Tail?! over”

“At about 4 o’clock high there is a small bogie that has a contrail, and he’s coming right for us. over”

“Holy shit. One of those guided rockets? over.”

“Can’t make it out Skipper, but its closing fast. We should be able to drop the package before he gets here. over”

“Copy that. Let us know of its location and distance. We have to drop the dummy or the mission is scrubbed. over”

“We should be okay. I estimate he or it is closing at 100 mph. over”

“We are 12 minutes from target. Keep us informed and you’re our only defense Nick. Do what you can. over”

“That’s a roger Skipper. over”

“Flight leader to flight, we have a bogie closing in from our 5 o’clock high. We should be able to accomplish our mission before it arrives. It appears to be a rocket or jet and it’s faster than we are. Over”

Nick notices that the radio chatter heated up until the Skipper toned it down. That sucker was moving and would be here shortly after we dropped the dummy. It was not fooling around and it was coming straight in with no deviations on a perfect interception course. Damn this was going to be close. The Skipper loosened up the formation a bit just in case it was a rocket and the blast of a hit was big enough to take us all out. He had heard this had happened a few times at Leningrad and to the RAF. A thought went through his head that rockets were not a very manly way to fight but then neither was a bomb, especially an atomic bomb. “We’re all becoming chicken shits” he thought to himself. Whatever happened to facing each other with swords? Now that’s the way to go if you had to die in combat.

He could see it better now. It has wings. That probably meant that it’s a plane of some kind. A very small one that was moving very fast. He informed the Skipper. He responded with just a roger. Probably too fixed on the bombing run to even worry about it. It’s a jet all right. Weird looking thing and small.

“Skipper, I’m going to take some long range shots at it just to make him think twice and give us some more time. Over”

“Roger that.”

Come on you little bugger, just a little closer. Then he felt the bomb bay doors opening and shortly thereafter he could feel the bombardier taking over control of the plane. It was just a slight change in the flight path but he could always tell. It was very rare of the pilot to be right on target. He fired a few rounds as the jet was just out of range and the fighter pilot flinched for just a second but it was long enough. The plane lurched up as the 10,000 lb dummy bomb left the bomb bay and the Skipper put us into a tight port turn. The other two planes had to fly straight and true in order to get the best readings from, and of the dummy bomb as it dropped. The Skipper was hoping that the fighter jet would come after us because we were now going it alone. The fighter pilot would have none of it and bore straight in for Finnegan’s Wake and with a few shots from what looked like twin 30 mm cannons, Finnegan and his crew exploded before Nick’s eyes. He was horrified and knew that they were virtually helpless against this small fighter.

“Skipper…”

“I know, I know! over”

They were now going away from the other planes and he could see everything that was happening. The flaming debris from Finnegan’s Wake left an ugly smudge of debris, fire and smoke in a classic waterfall type arrangement that cut through the beautiful blue sky. It reached down from the heavens in a horrible curve falling towards the ground. Then he noticed a disturbance in the trail of destructions and smoke as it hit an unseen wall of air rushing from Northwest to South East. There is was! What they had been sent to find. Damn it looked strong.

The scientists were going nuts over the radio trying to measure this and that and get the information back to the real deal, the Silverplate named Three Feathers. That’s what this mission is all about. Getting the information that Three Feathers needed to drop the bomb accurately. Nothing else mattered. Both of the other B29s with the scientists aboard were duplicates just in case. That case had just happened. Willy Nun and his bunch were flying along like nothing had happened and ignored the carnage of Finnegan’s Wake except for when it hit the river of air. That’s what they needed. That gave them some of the most accurate readings they acquired.

He learned later that this stream was 3000 miles deep and moved at 176 mph. Estimates were it was 400 mile wide and thousands of miles long. It covered all four of their targets it was later discovered. This actually turned out to be ideal. It was sustained and predictable and the same over every target. God works in mysterious ways some would say.

Nick located the fighter. It appeared to be gliding, losing altitude and disappearing fast far below.

“I think the bogie ran out of fuel Skipper, over”

“Thank God for that. We were not prepared to deal with whatever the hell that was! Maybe you nicked him. over”

“I don’t think so Skipper. over”

“Roger that.”

Nick noticed that he was shaking and all he did was watch. The others had died and been in the crosshairs of whatever that jet was. God, Finnegan’s went down fast. What the hell are we going to do if they have more of those jets?

Maiden Tower of Baku

The Maiden Tower of Baku had seen its share of bloodshed and war. The theory was that it was named the Maiden Tower because it had never been conquered or violated and was still a virgin. Complete with underground water supply, a wooden substructure that may have saved it from earthquakes and strong buttresses the tower had stood for over a thousand years on the spot overlooking Baku Bay. The Maiden has withstood the sands of time and many earthquakes since the 6th century but not today.

An explosion of atoms toppled her finally after 1300 years of proud testimony to the people who designed and built her. Today she was violated and obliterated. Today she ceased to exist. Today she will lose her virginity.

The day started out like any other and she did not have any idea her fate. Would it have mattered anyway? What can a stone structure have done to combat a force only rivaled by the sun? What can a mere pile of stones do against an explosion of atomic particles? It can’t run and hide. It can’t even sway enough or bend. It can only stand straight and tall until it is literally blown away by a blast of super-heated air and a shock wave that had only been seen 4 times before.

There are 30 hewed stone protuberances on the tower’s lower section and the 31 protuberances on the upper section, linked with a stone belt, that correlate to the days of the month. The Maiden was probably designed and built as an observatory. Block 23 of the lower belt will be the only stone that will survive somewhat intact after today at 7:26 am local time. It was shielded by its brothers and sisters as they are blown to pieces and those pieces flew hundreds of feet, meters and even miles from their 1300 year old resting place.

By a quirk of fate block 23 will not only stay intact but will be caught in what can only be called an eddy of the swirling debris made up of its neighboring stones and will fall very close to the place it had overlooked for centuries.

A few minutes after the calamity that is caused by a US made atomic bomb destroys The Maiden Tower in Baku, Azerbaijan, Soviet Union, an apparition that used to be a human woman finds block 23 and attempts to sit and rest on it. She is already basically dead but somehow her right side keeps dragging what was her left side far enough to attempt to sit on block 23. She almost makes it but with half of her body melted by the searing heat of an atomic blast it is a superhuman effort that falls inches short when her left tibia finally rips loose from the connective tissue. She falls on her left side which almost makes her look normal with her untouched right side visible to the next calamity that will follow the blast. She would not have wanted to live anyway after seeing her husband and 6 year old twin boys blown apart before her right eye. The oldest by 10 minutes had lived long enough to whisper Mama before he died. This was more painful to her than her own physical wounds could ever possibly be.

The irony was that Mama’s maiden name was Jill Parker and she grew up in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. She married William Nelson who was an engineer. They ended up in Baku because of Bill’s expertise in petroleum extraction. Jill left the farm based community in Middle America with its white picket fences and church steeples to follow her husband’s career. Cedar Rapids still had a street car when she left and even a few cobble stone streets but not many. Before America entered World War Two there were still Sunday picnics and concerts on the lawn.

Brucemore Mansion was still in its heyday and she grew up playing on the great lawns and gardens of the grand mansion own by Margret and Howard Hall. Howard was a friend of her father’s and she spent many a day playing on the groomed grounds with the pet lion that lived in the basement. Leo live in a maze of tunnels made just for him. He was the sibling of the famous MGM lion you still see growling before your favorite movie.

Margret and Howard loved to entertain and many a movie star stopped by during the 30s. Basically Margret had control of 4 upper floors and 21 rooms contained therein, complete with a sunken pool that would put any in Hollywood to shame. All 21 rooms were very tastefully decorated and built for entertaining Hollywood’s elite. Howard built the ultimate male retreat in the basement. It included a replica of a Polynesian hut complete with a sprinkler system that pours rake rain down the tin roof and drips off dried nipa and onto the fake ground. Further on past the hut is a room decked out just like a Northern Minnesota or Wisconsin bar. It was complete with deer heads and hides on the walls and beer on tap and of course a lion running loose.

How Jill and William ended up in Baku is rather pedestrian. He took a job assisting the Soviets with their oil production. He was recruited by the US to join hundreds of other American citizens to work in the USSR. Others helped build a huge truck factory and others worked on other industrial projects. Jill and William just stayed too long. They were on their way to the regional port and within days of taking a freighter to Turkey and from there through the Mediterranean to a new job in Galveston, TX when the war started.

The inside of their home in Baku looked like any other home in Cedar Rapids. They had been in Baku for 5 years and had shipped many familiar things through the Black Sea before the Second World War started in earnest. You would be hard pressed to tell the difference between their home and 454 Harris Street in Cedar Rapids, their previous address. They spoke American English and dress in western styles in a small enclave of US workers surrounded by millions of Soviet citizens. Much like many a US Army base located all over the world, where the contacts with the locals were few and far between. Their Negro nanny accompanied them and they had a pretty good life. The nanny Nora had about a dozen friends that were nannies and cooks and they felt pretty much at home as well. Nora had left a week earlier in order to get the home ready in Galveston, TX that they had built for their return to the US.

All this had run through her head until half of her brain was gone.

You would have been hard pressed to tell Jill from her younger sister if you only looked at her undamaged side, her sister who still lived in Cedar Rapids. Her blond hair was still attractively blowing in the deadly wind and her clothes were as stylish as anything in the US with her full skirt showing a shapely leg and ankle worthy of a starlet or a dancer on Broadway. Jill had taken a life time of dancing lessons and had taught the children in the US compound at various times over the years. There was a little dancing studio next to the Baptist Church the Soviets had allowed to be built and maintained in order to keep their valuable experts happy.

She was missing one shoe along with a leg, but the other one was in pristine condition. It was a very odd sight that was rapidly being covered in a grey ash falling in big clumps from the sky and swirling all around. Just looking at her body you would have thought that the city destroyed was Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

You could still see parts of the white picket fence and one wall of the Baptist church complete with one intact stain glass window depicting Christ ascending to heaven. With Jill in the picture, the church wall, picket fence and with the angle just right you could easily be convinced that Cedar Rapids Iowa had just been destroyed by an atomic bomb.

The ash was composed of twenty thousand six hundred and twenty six human beings, 36,897 trees, 3,498 cats and 2,345 dogs, and four American citizens of which two where six year old twins. It starts to settle over everything including block 23 and the remains of Jill Parker in earnest. This ash is highly radioactive which of course does not bother block 23 or Jill. It has the consistency of sand and rains down for hours. It does bother every other living thing within a 36 mile long plume reaching out to the Southeast. Even cockroaches are affected by the radioactive ash that falls covering everything for miles inches deep.

Nuclear weapons don’t care what the circumstances are or even who you are or what side you’re on. They just kill everything.

Baku 1946

Shelter in Place Baku

Slava Churchkin had studied the results of the nuclear blasts in Japan and knew that your best bet of surviving was to stay indoors and avoid the substance now called fallout for the first 48 hours. Despite his instinct to flee the area, he knew that the sand like ash falling all over the area had a certain length of time when it was most lethal and over a period of days that killing effect lessen dramatically. He had access to numerous studies and the survivors in Nagasaki and Hiroshima that were within the zone of this killer ash all either stayed inside, for a period of days out of fear, or because they were trapped, and the had lived. Almost all of the people who tried to flee through this killer ash, died, even after reaching safety and the people they came in contact with also became sick and many died if the ash was only a few days or less old. If you avoided the ash for 48 hours or more, you had a good chance of not getting sick.

That is why, despite every bone in his body screaming run as far and as fast as you can, he made his family and three other close friends stay indoors down in their root cellar. Despite all their pleading and begging he just knew he was doing the right thing and saving their lives. His 8 year old had almost snuck out in the early morning to get some food. He only just caught his little foot as he was about to open the cellar door and he pulled him back in time. He had to watch them all when they left, less they try and drink any water or eat anything from the outside. They had to wait until they were out of the ash zone and that could be a few days walk or more.

He has seen the ravages of radiation poisoning. It was horrible beyond imagination. He had worked with mustard and chlorine gas victims after the first war but nothing compared to this. It rotted you from the inside out. It cause terrible agony and your skin fell off in horribly large patches. He was not sure if the skin falling off was more to do with the heat involved or was a cause of radiation. He suspected that it was because of the blast itself.

He gained access to the case of Harry Daghlian. One of the many spies in the US group had gotten a hold of the case files and they had migrated to him. Mr. Daghlian was believed to be the first death caused by radiation sickness. He was working on the US atomic bomb and was trying something called “tickling the dragon’s tail” and the dragon had doused him in invisible flames. His hand slipped and he and the other scientists in the room were exposed to massive amounts of radiation.

The victims of the US nuclear explosions went through an agonizing sequence of radiation-induced traumas including severe diarrhea, reduced urine output, swollen hands, massive blisters on any exposed skin, intestinal paralysis, gangrene and ultimately a total disintegration of bodily functions. He had seen it happen as a representative of the Soviet delegation and relief effort sent to Japan. His job was really to study the effects of this monstrous weapon which he did in minute detail. Some of the Amerkoski seemed very eager to demonstrate what their new weapon from hell could do and for the Soviet delegation to report back to Stalin. A crude form of intimidation he guessed.

He could not give up his humanity like he has been taught to in the Soviet system and joined in the efforts of the Japanese Red Cross and US military in trying to at least ease the suffering of those most in need. Yes, he had killed dying patients with overdoses of morphine. They begged him and he relented. You can’t imagine seeing the amazing agony and utter degradation of a body heavily dosed with radiation. When there is no hope of recovery you cannot let the suffering continue if the patient implores you to end the pain. It didn’t matter what language they were trying to communicate in you just knew what they were saying by what was left of the facial expressions and the undamaged eyes. Even the newly blind can emote unbelievable pain through their unseeing eyes; pain that they just wanted to stop so they can die in peace and not silently screaming through destroyed throats unable to make a sound and barely able to sustain a life giving breath. He knew what his duty was in such cases and he did it. He was prepared to do it for himself or his family and friends if need be.

He was sent to Baku to work with some unusual skin conditions thought to have been caused by the petroleum products that some of the other scientists were working on, additives for gasoline and such. He brought his family along after being away from them for 6 months and after seeing all he had seen and been through in Japan he wanted them close by. Had he thought it through, he would have realized that this area was a prime target for a bombing attack by the Amerikosi. It surprised him that such a good people could have invented the atomic bomb. The Yanks that he worked beside were just as upset with what the atomic bomb had done as he was. Even the military minded expressed their utter contempt for this weapon. He actually thought that if it was up to the warriors, they would reject using such a weapon. It had no glory, no sense of conquest, no humanity. Killing an opponent face to face had that. Pushing a button and dropping an atomic bomb on a helpless city did not. It was the weapon of the coward, the politician and the technocrat and not the weapon of the warrior.

He was just reading in Pravda the other day about the movement in the West to ban the creation and use of additional nuclear weapons. According to the paper it was quite a large percentage in the West who did not want to see it used again and wanted it banned.

Now the scourge had been unleashed here in Baku, practically on top of his family. When the three high flying bombers had made their way over his city and then they were followed by a long bomber he instinctively knew what was coming. He had gotten everyone he cared about down in the cellar just minutes before the blast. He was sure the building above them had been destroyed but he was also certain that the cellar doors were relatively free from rubble piled on them and that the area around the door had not been contaminated. He had no doubt that the whole city was gone just like he witnessed in Japan but his little cellar was very safe for now. If he ever got out of this he was going to write a paper on how to survive and atomic war and immediately start digging a bunker under his house in Moscow and stock it with food and water, enough to last for months. He was sure the American pigs were going to try this again on Moscow. How could they resist?

They were a people who had not experienced war first hand. Oh a few of their healthiest men had seen war but not millions of women and children. By in large their population had not seen the horrors of what man has invented to kill other men. As if bullets weren’t enough. We had to invent liquid flame, bombs that sent pieces of their shell casings in all directions to kill as many as possible and of course the atomic bomb.

As he understood the theory there was a half-life for the most dangerous period of the ash that falls after a nuclear blast. If you survived the initial horror of the shock wave and heat this ash was the most dangerous thing for at least 48 to 72 hours. You had to avoid it at all cost. Luckily if was in the form of a kind of sand so the particles were relatively easy to keep out with oil cloth or multiple layers of some kind of tightly woven cloth. He had thought long and hard about this when the Amerikosi had tried to bomb Leningrad. He had a friend who was studying the challenge and was fairly certain of what he had heard would work. It appeared that if you covered even the tiniest cracks with some kind of barrier that could keep out the deadly sand or ash then you were safe in the short run.

The root cellar was small but they were continuously making room by eating the food from his garden stored there. He theorized that if the ash did not contaminate the food and water it was safe. Luckily for all in the confined space, his wife had insisted that he keep a few barrels of water in the cellar as well. She insisted that she needed cold water to start any soup stock. Starting with even lukewarm water tended to soften up the outside of things, like potatoes, before the insides could get warm. He had to admit that she made the best borsch he had ever tasted and she insisted it was because of starting out with cold water. For now her little quirk was saving their lives he was sure.

There had been a very awkward time when he had to speak to Yuli and Mansur about not fornicating for a long time for fear of spawning a deformed fetus. He had seen horrible monstrosities crying helplessly abandoned and left to die cause by the ravages of radiation in many of the hospitals and medical stations he had worked in. No arms or legs, horribly malformed faces, no eyes or even whole faces, crooked spines that bent the baby backward were all the norm. The newly married couple cried together for hours trying to comfort each other and silently hoping they had not conceived yet.

He had to focus and convinced Ivan that while he slept he had to keep his guard up and keep everyone safe and not to let anyone open or even try to open the cellar doors even a crack. If any of that sand got in it could kill them all. Ivan seemed convinced. He had been awake guarding and arguing with the others for over 24 hours and just had to close his eyes. Just for a second.

In what seemed like a blink of an eyelash he was awakened by a shaft of light and a puff of air. He opened his eyes in horror as he sat up. He saw the sand and dust swirl around in the shaft of sunlight that fill the confined space as Ivan threw open the doors even wider. He reached for his revolver and made sure he had a bullet for each of his children, his wife and himself. Ivan and the others were not his concern anymore.

One Lucky SOB

Henry “Hank” Gardner heard someone swearing but it sounded like he was muffled. It turned out to be him. He kept shouting “what the fuck” over and over again. That is until he woke up and he knew he was in deep trouble. He was swinging from a USAAF parachute with some kind of mask on him and a small heavy bottle hitting him in the nuts.

He was having trouble making his left side work, anything on his left side, arm, leg, eye or even his hearing. It’s surprisingly hard to function with only one eye. Your perception is all screwed up initially.

As he took stock he started to remember how he got here. He was aboard a bomber; one of those big ones… and there was an explosion and… someone pushed him out of the plane! Holy crap was he scared. He was a chicken shit anyway and had figured out a way to strap a portable emergency oxygen system to his body and it was now saving his life and hitting him in the aforementioned nuts.

He was a scientist, what the hell was he being pushed out of a plane for! As the events of what he figured were the last 5 minutes came back to him, he suddenly realized he could not remember his own name! He did remember seeing a piece of metal blowing around with a name on it kind of following him as he fell. The damn thing hit him just as he pulled the ring that was supposed to make the chute work. I guess it worked because here I am. Was his name Finnegan? No, that was the name painted on the piece of metal that hit him. Until he can think more clearly, Finnegan it is. I must have hit my head.

Well… I’m over land and not water. Let’s see we were on our way to Grozny to do some kind of experiment. Something to do with a high altitude wind.

His right ear catches a droning noise and as he scans around he catches sight of another giant silver bomber flying a few thousand feet off to the right almost overhead. Shit its bomb bay door is open. I thought they had multiple doors? Now that is a bomb! Look at the size of the thing will yah. Amazing and there it goes… Someone is in for a world of hurt that thing is huge.

Wait, wait, oh God no! Its numerical… nucleotide… asthma… some kind of bad bomb and it’s going to kill me as well. What the hell do I do? Curl up in a ball! Can you steer this parachute? I know I’ll just cut the harness and drop and take my chances.

He starts fishing for a knife with his right arm and hand all the time watching the bomb fall through the air. It fascinates him the way it cuts through the air. That’s what I was supposed to study! How this thing fell through the air and what happens when it hits some kind of wind.

Just then the said wind hit him. He felt it first as his feet and legs were pulled sideways and then he was almost pulled out of his harness and swept sideways at an incredible speed away from the path of the monstrous bomb. He had no idea how fast he was going but he was flying behind his chute like a toy gone berserk. He kept going for what seemed like forever when behind him he sensed an incredibly bright light rather than saw it. It lit up his parachute and then a few seconds later a pressure wave hit along with a searing hot wind faster than the wind he was being carried by. This whole combination of fast moving air increased his speed tremendously but since he was traveling at essentially the same speed as the first wind it didn’t tear him or the parachute into shreds.

He went on like this for quite a while when all of a sudden he fell far enough towards the ground that he dropped out of the fast moving wind and then was sent in the other direction by a fairly quick wind. Down and down he fell all the time trying to remember his real name and his family… if he had one, anyone on the plane… anything that he could grab a hold of. Every once in a while he would swing around and wonder at the ever expanding mushroom cloud. Something about “I am the destroyer of worlds” kept repeating itself in his head. It looked like he was going to land in the foothills of the mountains that were now above him. Looking down on him like he was some kind of bug that had briefly visited their lofty world and now was back where he belonged.

He kept feeling weaker and weaker. Probably bleeding to death, he thought. No it’s the air bottle, it’s empty. Well not a bad way to go he thought. Finally he just couldn’t fight it anymore and fainted.

The next thing he knew he was alone with a foul smelling pile of blankets and hides on top of him. Someone was with him, lying next to him and holding her hand over his mouth. He heard strange, guttural, male voices, obviously shouting orders. He decided to play along and wait to see what the hell was going on. If they were going to kill him they would have done so when he was out. After about 20 minutes of going in and out of consciousness the pile of blankets and furs where lifted off him and he stared into the most beautiful set of eyes he had ever seen. They were blue green with a slight tilt, almond shaped and so clear you could see your soul in them.

He ended up marrying those eyes but that story will have to wait.

He 162 Stalin’s Dart

“The day had begun for me as any other since my assignment here in Grozny. We were testing a new People’s Fighter based on the German He 162 Sparrow. The official line was that it was designed by Yak but we could still see the swastikas under the new paint of some of our test models. It was a great little plane to fly. The fastest in the air up to now, I believe. It had the ability to climb quickly up to 12,000 meters. My beauty was based on the 162 B-1 expended range version that the Germans proposed but never built. As you know it was renamed Stalin’s Dart. This model was indeed a creation of Soviet hands.

The takeoff was uneventful. As I was climbing to altitude I received a radio transmission that radar (such as it was down here in Grozny) had picked up 3 large echoes with one trailing behind by 30 minutes and I was to investigate. The height was estimated at 11,000 meters. They gave me the compass heading and I throttled back to conserve fuel. As is said the Dart is a fine plane to fly. Being short of stature I was very comfortable in its cockpit…”

Yegor stopped and stared at the wall for a few seconds and then began again.

“I have repeated the same thing for four hours now. We must stop. I need a respite and I resent being treated like this.”

Yegor Kasyanov was indeed being treated like a common criminal. He was seated in a very uncomfortable chair with a light shining in his eyes in a room where you confess whether you did it or not. The room and its decor screamed torture and confession with its grey cement walls and cold heavy air. It was underground so the feeling of being buried alive was unmistakable.

Why was he here? Because he had done his duty and shot down a capitalist pig terror bomber just after it dropped a large bomb in the area of Grozny.

“Once more from the beginning Yegor, if you please.”

“Comrade I protest. All I did was my duty and now I am being treated like a prisoner. Please I cannot stand confined spaces and the thought of being underground is torture to me. Can we not finish this above ground at least?”

“Yegor you are a hero of the Motherland for what you did. It was an amazing feat. This place we are in is the only thing keeping us alive for now. Another Amerikosi terror bomber has dropped an atomic bomb upwind from us and the poison is spreading this way. You will sicken and die if you go into the open. Now please one more time so we can advise other brave pilots like you on how to destroy these so called Superfortresses with the new jet plane, Stalin’s Dart. I’ll make a concession. Tell the story one more time and we will move you into the commissar’s office where you can stretch out and sleep a little. You have earned a good night’s sleep for all you have done.”

“Somehow I don’t feel I have a choice comrade.” He mutters as he begins again.

“I was vectored in to the radar blips and saw them at great range. They were huge and all silver, like they didn’t have a care in the world, and could just go where they wanted with no concern for staying hidden. This for some reason made me angry. Who the hell did they think they were? Did they really think that they could just go wherever they pleased, and drop bombs like we did not have the ability to even harass them? I was determined to show them what my Stalin’s Dart could do and what lengths the others that follow me would go to as well.

My initial mission was to test out the twin 30 mm guns so my ammunition was supply was full. As I neared the lead bomber in the V formation shot at me at far too long a range and I determined that they were still using 50 caliber machine guns that the Amerikosi love so much. My 30 mm could out-ranged them easily. Before I could get into firing position the lead bomber dropped a huge bomb and then veered to the right. The other two kept on flying straight.

I was white hot with anger. I had failed and now 10s of thousands of men women and children were going to die agonizing deaths. Somehow in my rage I reasoned that the bomber that dropped its bomb was not a threat anymore. It was the other two that still had missions and I would stop them no matter what it took.

I lined up on the left bomber and shot it out of the sky with a single burst. The 30 mm rounds just ripped it apart and the crew never stood a chance. It disintegrated in midair. When facing the right weapon, being flown by the right man, these bombers were no better than any other and were destroyed just as easily. I maneuvered to get a shot at the third when my fuel ran out. No warning my engine just quit. I tried to keep the nose up to ram my target but physics won and I plunged towards the earth unable to do my duty any longer.

I was pounding the inside of my plane in fury as I helplessly glided back to base. Since I was going back the way I had come I caught a glimpse of the fourth bomber that was about 20 minutes behind the first three. At any moment I expected to be blown to bits by the first bomb that was dropped but nothing happened. I was relieved and now doubly frustrated thinking that the last bomber was the real threat after all. After a few minutes I could not help but think that maybe we had been spared and concentrated on landing and flying another day to prevent the unthinkable from happening. Maybe the plane I shot down was the one with the bomb after all. They all were the special models we were taught to concentrate on so there was no way to tell. They all were missing their turrets and that was how we knew how to tell the ones with the atomic bombs from the ordinary bombers.

Just as I was getting close to the start of my landing and was about to call the tower, there was a blinding light. I happened to be looking down and was going away from the blast wave when it hit. My wings came off immediately and somehow before I passed out I hit the eject lever the next thing I knew was when I woke up in the infirmary under guard and far underground.”

“You have done enough for today comrade. Now let’s kick that fat ass commissar out of his office so you can get a good night’s sleep.”

“I believe sleep will elude me for a long time Maior. I blame myself for not doing enough and not getting their fast enough to prevent what has happened. How many are dead? How bad is it comrade… how bad is it…?”

Yegor collapsed into his hands weeping like a man possessed, which of course, he was, and would be from that day forward. He would never be the same again and would never fly again. He will not spend another waking moment being normal. He will relive this day and his choices, be they right or wrong, until the day he dies. In his mind he made the wrong choice and thousands died and he will ever see their faces in the night.

Stalin’s Dart modeled after the German He 162 Salamader

We lost One

SAC HQ

Outside of Cairo

Oct. 2nd, 1946

“Who was it?”

“Finnegan.”

“What the hell happened?”

“From the descriptions we got it was a Soviet version of the He 162.”

“Refresh my memory.”

“It’s a late war jet supposedly made for the Hitler youth to fly against our bombers. Single engine job made out of plywood. I gave you that report on it when that British pilot ran one into the ground when the tail came unglued.”

“That’s right. The other pilot who flew it the most said it was a great plane but just needed better glue. What a thing to lose your life to. What are the performance specifications?”

“Let’s see… I had it right here… Hey Jenkins do you have… ah, found it. So top speed of 559 mph, range of 600 miles, small only 23.7 foot wingspan, 30 foot long and weighs only 3660 lbs. It was fired by a BMW 003 but who knows what the Reds have put into it. It probably had 2 30mm cannons from the way the witnesses were talking. Pretty much tore Finnegan’s Wake in two with only a few hits.”

“Jesus”

“You said it. Rate of climb is 4615 feet per minute and ceiling 39400. The one described appears to be the planned D model so it should have greater range.”

“Shit! How did they get there so fast and how did they know we were coming? GOD DAMN IT, heads will roll if someone screwed up.”

“Sir… if I may? It was only one plane. It appears to be a fluke, some guy on a training run. We have no increase in radar or electronic traffic. They must have had a training or research facility close by and the guy just got lucky. The others all got through without a hitch and the plane he shot down was the backup. Half of Baku is toast.”

LeMay almost chewed his cigar in half while he thought. He was pacing around the room deep in thought.

“Okay here’s how it’s going to go. We hit them hard every day until they stop us. Push the number of ready aircraft. We need bigger raids than we initially planned and we need them starting tomorrow. We have to hit them as hard as we can until they get enough of those jets, missiles and whatever else they come up with. Today’s missions took out 50% of their oil production I want 5% more every day until they either stop us or we bring it to zero and keep it there. Get Higgins in here and setup a meeting in 15 minutes to work on the increase in tempo. I have a feeling we have a short window and we have to do it now or the war is lost.”

“Yes Sir!”

LeMay reaches over and picks up a field telephone.

“Get me Warren, NOW!”

He fumes as he has to wait a full 30 seconds.

“Warren get your ass in here and tell me how we are going to increase our sortie rate from projected by 25% starting tomorrow… that’s right tomorrow! Time is of the essence. Bring whoever you need to get the job done.”

He hangs up.

“Connors get me that Navy guy. We’re going to need a whole shit load more of supplies within days… not weeks, days.”

“Billings, telegraph Arnold… er wait I mean Spaatz and tell him we are increasing our sortie rate and to expect more casualties in the short run. Did you send the report on the raid so far?… Did you mention the loss of the Finnegan’s Wake?… Good so he knows what is happening and why. Add that a full report will follow in 2 hours then start producing the report.”

He hangs up and searches for someone else to assign a task to.

Chapter Twenty:

Unconventional Warfare

La 7R with rocket booster

* * *

Just an illustration of how a mad man’s mind works

* * *

Babushka

Stalin was raging inside. His mind was reeling with the possibilities of this calamity. Where had they come from? Where were their bases? They must be sought out and destroyed. This was why we attacked Britain so they could not attack the motherland and now they had unleashed their atomic bombs on our homeland. That was what this whole war was about. It was to prevent them from ever attacking us again. They were supposed to be regulated to attacking the buffer zone of Europe. They were supposed to have to lay waste to the old capitalist and fascist capitals and spend their wealth raining terror on their former allies. Beria had failed him and now he was going to have to hoard his oil. He was going to have to rein in his armies and air force over Britain. He had one chance to stop more bombs from falling and that was to find the bases and expand the buffer zone even further.

Novikov hadn’t officially reported but from other sources he had learned that the bombers had come from Egypt. So Egypt is where the army will go. The Red Army always ended up saving the Motherland. Yes the other arms of the military supported but the army was his key on the Eurasian continent.

Oil the lifeblood and curse of modern war and empires. Japan and Germany had died because they were bled to death. A death of a thousand cuts. The Americans had just opened a gaping wound in his supply chain.

America had triumphed only because it had oil in abundance. He had it in abundance until yesterday. Luckily it was still there. It was just under a cap of melted and poisoned earth. The die was cast he had to invade the oil fields of the British in Iran and take the bases in Turkey and Egypt. He would have to use the last of his stockpile of oil to accomplish this overarching goal. They would have to dig in on the Pyrenees Line and curtail his attacks on Britain until the matter of oil was solved. Moving on Iran solved two problems it starved the British and provided him with a new supply. Taking Egypt would close off the Eastern Mediterranean and finally free the motherland from attack.

At least until the cursed capitalist pigs developed some new weapon of nightmares. The only answer was to be as innovative in the arms race that was developing. Beria and his spies had kept them informed and Sergo produced for the Soviets what Western Europe invented. Sergo’s program of educating and developing talent was bearing fruit every day. With the assets of Western Europe now at this disposal he was confident it could be done.

He started to calm down. In six months he would once again have as much oil as the cursed Yankees. He would once again attack Iberia and put an end to capitalism on the Eurasian continent. In six months Baku, Ploesti would be back online producing more than ever. Sergo was going to have to release some of his workers to die in an atomic wasteland in order to bring production back but it would come back. Then he would concentrate on a navy that could get him across the water separating France and England and eventually export the revolution to South America, Africa, Central America and isolate the Amerikosi like they were trying to do to the Soviet Union.

He was starting to think of the future again and not the past. Beria would live another day and if Novikov prevented any more calamities from happening he would live as well.

Some movement caught his eye outside and he went over to the window. It was hardly ever open anymore. He preferred the night and the dark. He slept most of the day and was up most of the night much to the chagrin of the Ruling Seven who had to produce results during the day and help entertain him at night. It was an old babushka bending down to pick up a lump of coal that fell from a coal wagon. Here he was thinking about how to change the world for the workers and there was one of them right outside his window. What was she thinking of? Was this her lucky day? Could she and her family enjoy one more hour of heat tonight while he designed plans to destroy capitalism once and for all? Was that what she was thinking? He very rarely even thought about anyone but himself and that was why he was Stalin and she was a ghost.

He couldn’t remember caring about anyone anymore. It had been a long time since he tried or even thought about trying. People where just a means to an end. You had to have them in order to have real power or what was the point? Who could be the supreme leader if you had no one to lead? He couldn’t let them all die otherwise he was king of nothing. He pushed a buzzer on his desk and his newest assistant quickly and silently entered the room and waited.

“You see that old mother out there? The one who just took some coal that did not belong to her?

The aide looked past him and spotted the lone women.

“Yes Excellency… shall I have her arrested?”

Stalin turned slowly towards the aide and pierced him with his dead eyes.

“No… we can’t kill everyone. Send someone to take her home and then give her family a month’s supply of fuel. You just can’t kill them all you know. What’s the point if everyone is dead? There has to be some left to rule and to do the work. Some left to honor your legacy. On second thought give her a year’s supply if she has young children in her home. Then bring me her right hand for stealing. No make that her left. We don’t want to be too cruel. Yes taking her dominant hand would be too cruel.

“Yes of course Excellency.”

He turned towards the window and watched long enough to see two NKVD agents help the old lady get into their car and drive off. One of them took the lump of coal from her and appeared to assure her that she would get it back. And he felt nothing. He never felt anything anymore except when he watched the movies and especially that American Charlie Chaplin. He had Beria assign one agent buried deep in the film industry to a very special task. He was to pay whatever it took to get a copy of the newest Charlie Chaplin movie to the Kremlin within a month of its release in America. So far he had not failed or was it a she. He could never remember. Yes Beria would live through another failure as long as he got his movies.

The Second Day

The day after the atomic bombs had rained on the Soviet Union and its oil production facilities; the sun came up clear and bright in Egypt. It was much like the light from the bombs the day before. LeMay was ready and so were 647 B-29s and 715 P-80 Shooting Stars. The jet fighters were stationed in Rhodes, Crete and bases in Turkey in order to increase their loiter time and time in high speed combat. Hundreds of other more conventional fighters were to stay behind to supply a massive combat air patrol or CAP over the fighter bases that were in range of the VVS fighters and the very effective Tu2S Bats that had plagued the RAF.

The load outs of the B29s suggested a pattern bombing or carpet bombing mission. The briefing was done just minutes before the engines of over 3400 jet and Wright Cyclone engines started to roar disrupting the air. As they loaded the B29s with conventional 500 lb bombs, the armorers were speculating, just what was the target? It didn’t seem the right load out for an oil field but what did they know.

In addition to the bombs, they finished replacing all of the defensive guns on all of the bombers days ago. The B29s were going to give up the major advantage that had made them the most costly weapons system in the world. They would have to come in below 25,000 feet due to the discovery of the stream of fast moving wind over the target areas of the Southern USSR. It was hardly as fast as a jet but was rapidly getting the moniker Jet Stream as some futurists predicted that it would be used by peaceful jet powered airliners in the future to save on time and fuel. But for now it was a barrier that had to be flown below if you wanted to carpet bomb or bomb with any kind of accuracy. The atomic bomb did not need much accuracy and was dropped from such a great height which also allowed for the safe escape of the bomber.

The other advantage the B29 had, over other bombers of its time, was speed. Empty and in a shallow dive it could reach 350 mph for a couple of hundred miles. This was only 60 mph slower than a Yak 9 Frank. This would hopefully mean that most of the attacks by conventional propeller driven Soviet fighters would be from behind and not the more devastating frontal and side frontal attacks the Germans had perfected and the Soviets copied in earlier encounters.

The B29s would use their range to reach a point where the VVS fighters would start to appear then they would increase their speed to the maximum allowed and still stay in formation. After the bomb run they would go into a shallow dive while still staying in formation and hightail it for home. The most devastating of the airborne attackers; the missile firing heavy and medium bombers, would be left behind fairly quickly. The plan was for the bombers to literally fight their way through the initial screen and then to outrun the more conventional fighters and air to air attack aircraft.

Having over 600 of the finest jet fighters in the world as escorts didn’t hurt either. P80 Shooting Star was a marvelous plane. It outclassed anything the Soviets had to this point even if they dragged up some German made Me 262s. A full 30 mph faster than the MiG 9 Fargo and over a hundred mph over the Feather it was estimated. The Feather could easily out turn the Shooting Star and would probably play the part of the Spitfire trying to lure SAC pilots into a turning fight while the Fargos boomed and zoomed. It would probably be a frustrating day for the P80 pilots with just fleeting chances of a deflection shot at their much more slower but nimble opponents while at the same time trying to keep the bombers safe and driving off attack after attack without the satisfaction of driving home their own attacks.

The change in tactics by the USAAF in 1944 had set the fighters loose from escort duty to take the fight to the Germans and had won the air war in the West. This probably was not an option in this case until the odds changed. Even at this early stage and with the element of surprise there was still a possibility of being outnumbered by a two to one margin with greater odds to come. The Soviets had another advantage in knowing exactly what had to be defended to the death. The Germans never had that luxury and were forced to spread their forces thin until the bombers showed their true targets.

The same sun came up just as bright over the three newly finished fighter and air defense bases that had been built in the last few months. A hundred miles Northwest of Baku, they were to be the home to about thirty percent of the defensive force that was to enter the area within a week. Novikov was a master at moving large numbers of aircraft thousands of miles in a short amount of time. In fact no one was his equal.

What he did in Operation August Storm against the Japanese in Manchuria in 1945 was only rivaled by what he was now doing. Within 10 days he would have over 5,210 defensive aircraft in the Baku area. The weather was cooperating wonderfully and Beria’s agents had obtained information that the Amerikosi knew about the high winds and would be coming in below 7500 meters. This was the killing zone for his conventional fighters of which he had almost 10,000 still left in active service despite Sergo’s efficient pivoting of manufacturing towards jet fighters.

The conventional fighters were expected to ram the bombers if need be, counting on being able to parachute over friendly territory and to survive. Some had actually practiced shearing off the ailerons of the B-29 using towed targets and large kites last winter. They had 3 real B-29s to study that were impounded in the last war and had calculated where best to strike the tail parts for maximum damage and still be able to control your own crippled fighter to the ground or at least to be able to jump out and use your parachute. Meanwhile the cripple giants would be spiraling to earth without a hope of rescue.

About 100 La 7Rs had even been reinforced near the wing roots and leading edges similar to previous attempts by the Luftwaffe’s Sonderkommando Elbe.[47] This was seen more as a terror weapon than a real threat to Amerikosi bombers but it was pursued before the advent of Stalin’s Fire and the X4 rockets. The La 7R had a rocket booster embedded in the body of a regular La 7. This rocket motor increased the speed of the La 7R to 490 mph for over 3 minutes, more than enough time to catch and ram a B-29 going 300 mph.

But the B-29 was something out of the ordinary and so the taran unit had stayed in service and continued to train for their deadly mission. Ramming attacks had been somewhat frequent in the beginning of the War in the East but had subsided as the Soviet fighters became better and then finally surpassed the Germans. The unit had been stationed in the South near Baku and it was ready to do its duty for the Motherland. It had temporarily been re-based during the first attack yesterday but was in position to defend the remainder of the Baku oil fields today if need be.

Stalin was aware that the US was out of atomic bombs but the remainder of the VVS did not. They would be highly motivated, to say the least, to destroy every single bomber. They would use any means at their disposal to accomplish this goal. For all they knew every bomber carried certain death to hundreds of thousands.

Would the American crews be as willing to die? They had aboard just 10 tons of conventional bombs. Hardly the stuff of mass murder that modern war had made us immune to and now seemed to demand. 10 tons of bombs was a pin prick compared to what was unleashed yesterday. Would the bomber crews be willing to press home their bombing run knowing that their bomb load was such a small part of what was needed to win?

Thousands had willingly done it just 8 months ago. Yes they would do it because their loyalty was to their unit, their wing, their crew. They would all do their duty to the fullest extent. Man was amazing at convincing other men to die. Sometimes it was only a piece of brightly colored cloth and sometimes it was an idea. No other animal died for an idea or even a flag. No other animal asked others to die for a vague threat.

“What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an Angel! In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!”

“The paragon of animals” says Shakespeare. God help the world says me.

$2 Switch

The activity on what had locally become known as King Tut Field increased dramatically. The tempo was causing accidents at an alarming rate. The increased activity combined with the fact that many of the ground crew were relative rookies due to the weeding out that occurred when SAC was created, made for a deadly combination

Some hands arms and feet were crushed and just plain chopped off and lives were lost. Too many collisions occurred but it was all deemed necessary by the demands LeMay had place on the accelerated timetable for the next raid and the raid after that.

At the same time Novikov was having a race of his own. LeMay did not have his life on the line in this case, whereas the Marshal of the VVS did. The commander of SAC did not have to answer to the world’s greatest murderer like his opponent did. It is amazing how focused Novikov became when under pressure. Much like LeMay they both could drive men to produce more than thought humanly possible and both had done so many times in the past. Novikov still held the record of the greatest number of sorties in one day during the Second Battle of Britain but LeMay was going for the title of most destructive conventional attack on a military target.

The fire raids on Japan came in a close second for the record number of civilian deaths and are only outpaced by the atomic bomb raids on Japan. By his calculations he had a week or less to destroy the remainder of the Baku oil productions facilities. The attacker usually has the advantage in that they can choose where to attack. In this case it was rather obvious where the attack had to occur and Novikov was rushing every asset that could potentially destroy or even distract a B-29 bomber. His goal was to place a blanket of lead over Baku. Whether it came from in the form of a vertical attack from the ground up or high altitude fighters diving down or on the horizontal plain caused by other fighter craft firing lead or the X4 missile, his goal was to keep the skies clear over Baku.

Novikov’s ace in the hole was the Stalin’s Fire missile system and the Pe 9 and now Tu2S launched X4 air to air missile. They just plain wreaked havoc when fired at tight bomber formations. The explosions of even near misses took down up to four aircraft at a time and they were getting even more deadly as the war raged on. He would have 200 Stalin’s Fire setup in a ring around Baku in 3 more days with another 600 on the way coming in at about a hundred a week. There were 93 Pe 9s that could fire 8 missiles each and were being serviced on a huge base that was prepared months ago. In addition 167 Tu2s were being fitted with the X4 and would carry 4 each. He also had 75 of the Stalin’s Dart short range jet fighters and 150 MiG 9 Fargos and 134 Yak 15 Feathers and they would be in position in two more days to help the defense. 290 Yak 3 and 9 PDs called High Franks, would be in the area in a week and 1097 more conventional Yak 9 Franks, and La 7s were there now. Normally the conventional fighters would be out of the fight given the height advantage of the B29 and F80 Shooting Stars. However the jet stream over Baku would force the B-29s below 24,000 ft. Well within the effective ceiling of these more conventional Yaks and the La 7. This meant that the fighters would be able to reach and over take the B29s at their usual cruising speed.

The VVS had all the advantages and Novikov knew how to use them. His pilots had a chance of being rescued and could fly again. The Amerikosi would be killed or captured if shot down and would not fly again. His crippled planes would have a chance of landing and being repaired. The Amerikosi would crash a long time before they reached friendly territory where they could be repaired. His supply lines were shorter. The Americans had to ship everything from thousands of miles away by ship. He now knew where their bases were and could retaliate against them. SAC still did not have a clear idea of where the real prize lay in the deepest parts of Eurasia. They had no idea of where the factories where hidden or where the true choke points were. All they knew was where Baku was and that was rapidly being defended while the other oil production facilities would be repaired.

It appeared that there was only one thing LeMay could do and he would have to take it on the chin if he wanted to attack Baku again. Sometimes you have only one choice in war… or do you?

LeMay’s choice of targets had increased due to a far sighted Colonel who jammed some high speed cameras into 10 modified P-80 Shooting Stars. It was hoped that the high flyers would be overlooked in the aftermath of the nuclear explosions and it appears as though they had. One of the planes had trouble turning off its cameras. Three chance photos had widened the target choices for this first raid. Chance has so often determined whose gods would claim victory in many of man’s battles and wars. Had the god the American’s prayed to cause the camera to malfunction or had the lack of a god in the Soviet Union been the cause? Who do you curse when there is no god to blame for bad luck or fate? Was Stalin trying to take the place of god and was that the reason why the American god had worked a miracle or in the end, was it just a faulty $2 switch.

Carpet to Em

Everything was in place and the trap was set. Novikov brought in every jet in the Soviet arsenal even the 53 AR234s jet bombers who only had rear firing 20 mm cannons. The plan was to distract the P-80 Shooting stars as much as they could and let the conventional fighters and the ramming squadrons deal death blows outside of the range of the close to a thousand 90mm anti-aircraft guns complete with hundreds of thousands of captured VT proximity fused munitions. These deadly fuses were the ones that increase the hit rate by a factor of seven of the US 90mm guns that devastated the Kamikaze attacks near the end of the last war. The program that developed these fuses was the third most costly program of World War Two, just behind the atomic bomb and the B-29 bomber. A hundred and twenty three Wasserfal, Stalin’s Fire missile sites surrounded Baku and the Pe-9 Beach with 8 X4 air to air missiles each was now augmented by newly retrofitted Tu2Ss carrying 4 air to air missiles each. 93 Pe-9 Beaches and 167 Tu2S Bats were stationed in a massive air field complex west north west of Baku at a distance of 245 km. These massive airfield complexes could cover both Baku and the oil fields to the northwest for the longer ranged aircraft. They were built over 6 months ago and had just received their hundreds of planes over the last few days.

Supplies were strewn all about as the hasty placement of fuel drums, bombs, spare parts and ammunition lay in the open fields in huge piles. It was also a staging area complete with train unloading facilities for the Stalin’s Fire SAM missile and hundreds were lying about or were just being off loaded from the trains that were coming in hourly. As soon as the US bombers were spotted on the radar the longer ranged bombers launched as fast as possible to be in position over the expected approach avenue to Baku.

Baku itself was like a porcupine bristling with SAM missiles and close to five hundred anti-aircraft guns of all ranges and stopping power. All oiled and waiting to receive the deadly shells that could mean death to many a bomber crew. The remaining oil production facilities that missed the first atomic bomb attack had been hardened as much as possible. There was still close to 25 square miles of oil production facilities and wells that the errant atomic bomb had missed and Baku was running at 30% efficiency still. It was also being repaired 24 hours a day despite the horrors of radiation.

Many of the interceptor squadrons were fairly close to Baku because of their short ranges. The jet fighters in particular were grouped around the area outside of the nuclear radiation zone of course. Many were based to the southwest to intercept bombers on the ingress and to the northwest to intercept them after they left the flak and missile killing zone planned for them.

Ground spotters picked up the massive raid coming from the south before the radar did. The communication lines and radios were heating up with every minute. Counts of the bomber stream and circling jet fighters came pouring in. Many were wild guesses but some were fairly accurate. There was no way to hide this massive moving carpet in the sky droning on towards Baku.

The area around Baku was as ready as it ever will be. More jet fighters would have been nice but their shortage was not critical. The older liquid fuel Stalin’s Fire missiles started to be fueled and the solid fuel models got ready for launch as well. By now all the malcontents among the Chechen women had been weeded out. They were now a compliant bunch and ready to do their Soviet masters bidding. There formidable skills were crucial in the initial stages of launch. The first few minutes of wire guided flight set the missiles up for success if placed at the best angle for the internal missile guidance system to take over and hone in on the lead bombers.

They always went for the lead bombers for two reasons. One was to cripple the leadership of the raid; this had worked brilliantly in the first big raid attempted on Leningrad, and the other was to disrupt the formations and to possibly destroy the moral of the following crews. The crews who could find themselves thrown into the position of prime due to the loss of their leader. It would certainly be unnerving to see your leaders picked off one by one and then you become the object of attention for a guided missile coming unerringly towards your bomber. There would be nothing you could do but pray.

The formation that created and made carpet bombing effective would also increase the havoc of an exploding SAM missile with a warhead of a quarter ton of high explosives. These warhead have already demonstrated the ability to take down as many as 4 bombers with each explosion in other attacks. It would not be too hard to predict that any number of bombers would start to distance themselves from the lead bombers no matter how brave the crews.

Carpet bombing had only been tried on a helpless and prostrate opponent. The Soviets were far from helpless as has been amply demonstrated. The possible addition of proximity fuses of American make, in the warheads of the Stalin’s Fire missiles was also a major concern. Jammers had been placed in bombers spread throughout the formations, but who knew what counter measures the Soviets and their pet German scientists had cooked up for this defense in depth of their last remaining major oil field and production facility.

Each of the bomber formations knew who the bombers were that had the jammers aboard and were sure to try and get as close to this unit as possible. No one had any true idea of the range of the jammer or if it would even work. The VVS had made it work over Great Britain but once again the US was playing catchup. Do you show élan and strength and just bore in, or do you test the waters first. With LeMay in charge, you bore right in. Damn the missiles full speed ahead, as it were.

And it looked like that was exactly what was going to happen. The formations of bombers headed straight for the untouched streets and oil production facilities of Baku. The missile crews checked and re-check their equipment and the short range jets started to launch as the B-29s and P80 jet fighters closed in, climbing in breath taking speed compared to their propeller driven ancestors. This was sure to be an epic battle fought on the enemies turf by SAC against the best the VVS had to offer. Novikov had done an outstanding job of putting a hasty defense together and LeMay had done the same with his attacking force.

At about 125 miles out from Baku the bomber stream took a 45 degree turn to the Northwest. They were now headed almost due north in a classic dogleg to the left. It took over 15 minutes before someone figured out what was going on and rushed in to inform the Stavka and more importantly Novikov. Normally he would have left the tactics to his staff but this was too important to leave to others.

In that 15 minutes the lead planes traveled 55 miles closer to the target. Those 55 miles meant that the short range He 162 Stalin’s Dart jet interceptors were out of position. That 55 miles meant that the vast majority of the Stalin’s Fire SAMs would not be in position as well for optimal interception and if the course of the bombers held, they would not be in range. The conventional Yak 9s, Yak 3s and the La 7s along with the Pe 9 and Tu2S bats armed with the X4 missile could make the adjustment but hundreds of AA guns could not. But of course, neither would the remaining oil fields of Baku which would remain untouched this day.

Within a minute of being told about the course change Novikov knew what LeMay was up to. He was after the massive air fields newly built near Barda and Yeviakh. More importantly the real target was the supplies and ground crews there. LeMay was doing the same thing to him that he had done to the British. Everyone was so confident that LeMay would go for the jugular, that no thought of what a truly tempting target the supply depots were, had been broached in any meeting or briefing. As the Brits gave no thought to their bone yards so the VVS brain trust gave no thoughts to their true weakness. The months of supplies uprooted from the English Channel area and hastily move to undefended depots were easily observed from the air and were largely undefended.

The thought of what Stalin would do when he found out, was almost paralyzing him. Reaching deep inside he continued to boom out order after order and at the same time plotted how he could blame this calamity on Beria.

Novikov knew what was coming. He had seen the aftermath of a carpet bombing mission in Toulouse. Nothing of value would be left for miles around each of his depots and no appreciable amount of supplies would survive. More importantly his prized ground crews and mechanics would be blown to bits. He immediately ordered an evacuation of the two air complexes as his first priority. There was nothing he could do about the supplies. They would be gone in a matter of minutes in billowing columns of smoke and monstrous explosions.

He ordered his men to use the fastest evacuation route available leading away from the areas that were sure to be devastated in a matter of 15 minutes or less. Luckily the areas that could effectively be carpet bombed were fairly small in square kilometers so that 15 minutes should get most of the workers away from the kill zone. Now if he were LeMay he would send his fighters to track down any surviving personnel, he further ordered that the ground crews were to disperse after they traveled 15 km from the presumed target area.

Victor whispered in his ear that they should move all fighters capable of mounting a threat to the area over the evacuation sites to defend the troops from strafing P-80 Shooting Stars. Even a Yak 9 if flown properly had a chance of catching a jet going low and slow searching for human targets. If nothing else they would provide a distraction to the much faster US jet fighters and prevent them from doing their murderous business. It would do no good to move the shorter legged Soviet jets to the area. He suggested it was best to keep them over Baku as CAP just in case. Novikov was a master at knowing a good idea when he heard one and then rewarding those who suggested them.

And so the orders were given and now all he could do was to wait. Wait to see his fate. Wait to hear if all he lost was a few weeks of supplies and spare parts or if he would lose the years of experience and knowledge stored in the fragile craniums of his men. Had he lost the incredible advantage that Beria had provided to him with the foreknowledge of what the enemy was planning? Had he failed in his attempt to match wits with the man who destroyed Japan from the air? So far he was losing and losing badly. Stalin would not let that continue for long he was sure.

ENOUGH! He thought to himself. Get off your ass and save those men! Plenty of time to face the grim prospects of being tortured or making the choice to use his fancy pistol on himself. He really did care for the ground crews and mechanics more than the arrogant pilots.

“Tell Klokov to move the Pe-9s Southwest at all speed. They may be able to catch some Amerikosi cripples. Have the MiG 9s with the drop tanks cover them. If nothing else maybe we can draw some blood and gain some experience against the Amerikosi jets. Have him use the AR 234 as well to draw off some more fighters. Send some Yak 9DDs to see if they can pinpoint the bases for the fighters. I suspect they have to be based in Turkey and the Red Army will have to attend to that.”

Now to prepare my personal defense, he thought. Will the attacks come from Beria or directly from the Kremlin at the behest of Stalin? Beria has as much to lose as I do if it is fully discovered what really happened so I believe it is going to come from Stalin… if anyone.

Head Shot

Alexander Pokryshkin found himself once again in a fighter plane on his way to a one sided fight with a supposedly superior enemy.[48] So many times before that had been the case and so many times before he had triumphed. He has over 500 sorties and some say close to 100 kills in the last war with a not so insignificant number of them being Nazi aces. He wondered to himself that if you shot down another ace do you get to keep his score and add it to yours? In that case he had well over 300 kills.

During the latter part of the war he actually would announce that he was flying a mission over an open channel. He was known as “one hundred” or Sotka and when he announced he was in the air there was no opposition to his missions. He personally shot down four 50 plus kill German aces in individual combat while flying inferior aircraft. On one occasion in 1942 two German aces jumped his Yak 1 flying the far superior Me 109 G2s. He barrel rolled on both of them and shot them down one by one. Nobody in 1942 did barrel rolls anymore, maybe that’s why they worked. Barda had 46 kills to his name at that time and lived to get another 110. Keiser died with 9 to his name.

Pokryshkin was known to give away a significant number of his kills to fallen comrades. The Soviet VVS monetarily rewarded pilots for every plane shot down. Manny other Soviet aces also engaged in this common practice of giving their kills to fallen comrades. Each kill was rewarded with a substantial monetary bonus, and on the day of a pilot’s death all regiment kills would often be credited to him in order to give his family some support. Many other Soviet pilots were getting killed in 1941 and 1942 when Pokryshkin was in the thick of the fighting and no one knows how many he gave to his fallen comrades.

He did however have one glaring error in his emotional makeup; He did not suffer fools lightly and that was constantly getting him demoted and denounced by good communists so he never obtained the rank he deserved. Oh he won metals and praise but more often than not, he was demoted shortly after or even just before he got his latest medal. He is the only one to win Gold Star of the Hero of the Soviet Union 3 times for combat actions. He shot down more German multiple aces than any other pilot. He seemed to be able to find them like magic and best them in one on one combat; many times in front of multiple witnesses. Experte Feldwebel Hans Dammers and his wingman UnteroffizierKurt Keiser (7./JG 52) fell to his guns along with, 9-kill ace Unteroffizier Heinz Scholze (4./JG 52), Leutnant Helmut Haberda (an experte of 5./JG 52 with 58 victories to his credit, on 23 July 1943 Pokryshkin shot down the 56-kill experte Uffz, Hans Ellendt, of 4./JG 52, and one of his last victories was Hauptmann Rudolf-Heinz Ruffer, credited with 80 tank-kills in Stukas and HS 129s.

To make his feats even more incredible he flew much of the war in the US P-39 Aircobra that despite its formidable name was not regarded as even in the top twenty fighters of World War Two. Somehow it didn’t seem to matter. America’s top 3 out of four Aces flew the twin boom P-38 lightning, which many uninformed historians dismiss when compared to the P-51 Mustang. In the right hands a P-39 or P-38 could fly circles around an unskilled pilot. America’s Ace of Aces Richard Bong made a fool of the leading P-47 ace in front of a huge crowd when on leave in Australia and Pokryshkin bested Germany’s experten regularly throughout the war in what was by any measure a decidedly inferior aircraft.

Pokryshkin was flying a MiG 9 jet fighter with drop tanks and was closing in on the last of the B-29 bombers that had just bombed his airfield. He was not in a good mood and the last time he was this angry he had shot down 3 Ju 88s in a single pass and two more Ju 87s that same day. He didn’t know if he was so angry because of the idiots at HQ were fooled by the Amerikosi or by the fact that his long time mechanic had been wounded in the raid. Whatever the reason, he was going to seek revenge and god help anything that got in the way of his 30mm cannon shells.

The escorting P-80 Shooting Stars were out of position when he started his first pass and a short burst of 5 rounds tore the B-29 named Wet Willy in two. The shot was a brilliant deflection shot and the bombers gunners could not follow his jet fighter fast enough to get a good shot at him. He then side slipped and dove on another bomber who’s gunner did get a good shot at the now slower jet fighter and nicked his left aileron and threw his aim off a bit. Only three of the six 30 mm cannon rounds hit the outside port engine and sent the giant bomber on a death spiral towards the earth spewing its crew behind hanging from their parachutes. All got out but the plane made quite a splash as it pancaked and broke apart after falling 20,000 feet.

It takes a long time to fall from 20,000 feet and by the time the second bomber hit the water Pokryshkin himself was dead. A SAC jet fighter pounced on the MiG 9 named One Hundred as he was lining up on his third victim. The first burst of 50 cal bullets from the Shooting Star missed and Pokryshkin might have been able to maneuver out of harm’s way, but so intent was he on decimating his prey, that he chose to finish his own kill and that was his last mistake. The last burst of his cannons did hit home and killed 3 crewmen of the B-29 named the Lucky Strike but the plane itself survived and made it back to make an emergency landing.

The second burst from the American jet took Pokryshkin’s head off. No need to say much more than that. He died instantly feeling no pain. Ironically his MiG 9 kept flying straight and true for another 15 minutes in a shallow dive that outpaced any pursuer. It finally broke apart when it hit the sound barrier and Pokryshkin was unceremoniously buried at sea with his head landing 49 miles west southwest from the remaining pieces of his body.

Taran

Taran is the Soviet version of a ramming attack. Boris Kobzan was the best in the world at this tactic.[49] He survived 3 such attacks during the last war. His La 7 was built to ram the B-29. His unit has been practicing for almost a year against the big bomber. Practice run after practice run using plywood targets and even the German Gigant glider towed behind dual TU2S to get the speed needed to duplicate the American bomber. The VVS Tarans were as ready they could be and as luck would have it they were in position to give it a go. The Reinforced La 7R Fin was much faster than its much heavier gun carrying brothers. It was lighter in every way except where it counted. They were reinforced to withstand a massive air to air collision with a much heavier opponent. It was designed to cut like a knife through the tail sections of the B-29. Some of which were almost as big as the whole Fin itself. In addition it had a rocket engine installed that gave it a 3 minute burst of speed rivaled only by a true jet fighter.

Boris was not a good shot but then again he didn’t have to be, did he? He was probably the best pilot in the world at crashing into another plane. It was a very strange claim to fame but there it was. He flew with such precision that he could put his plane, closing in on the target, at a combined speed of over 600 miles an hour, in precisely the place and angle he needed. In his last ram attack he actually was able to land his plane quite nicely after taking down a Ju 88. It really was a remarkable skill to be able to crash into and opponent and live, at the kind of speeds that modern planes had to obtain to stay in the air.

The formations of Amerikosi bombers were in a shallow dive to gain speed and to get out of range of most of the Soviet fighters and interceptors. The tactic had worked very well and the Tarans where the only conventional Red Air Force planes in contention for an attack at the moment. The MiG 9s had got a few but not anywhere near enough. A number of the Fargos had gone down in flames to the guns of the P-80 jet fighters who found themselves in the enviable position of being in the majority for once in this war.

What this decrease in altitude did mean, was that the Fins were in their element. At 15,000 feet the La 7 had no equal outside of a jet fighter. They gained speed on the pack and had the best angle of attack on the bombers imaginable. Luck plays such a big part in the art of war and for once in this bombing raid, it was with the Soviets. The American jet fighters were still consumed with dealing with the MiG 9 Fargos and the Tartan squadron following Boris each had time to pick their targets. They were not harassed and came boring straight in. This allowed them the luxury of lining up their attacks and then side slipping to throw off the aim of the big bombers gunners.

It’s hard enough trying to hit a small fighter plane coming in from the front quarter high and low. Add in a side-slip and you’re pretty much untouchable. The reason that fighters weren’t successful more often in this kind of attack was twofold. The escorting fighters usually prevented you from taking the time to line the attack up and second it was even harder to hit a target with your own shells when you were side-slipping towards it.

If you are trying to collide with a target it didn’t matter so much; in fact if you were practiced, it was the only way to miss the wings and hit the tail area. Once past the wing a quick flick and you could hit the aileron with the heavily reinforced wing root of the La 7 Fin in a slicing maneuver that the Fin should win 9 times out of ten. And Boris’s squadron did. They got 9 hits with 8 outright kills and that Tartan surviving. There was another slow motion death of a bomber and an outright miss with an easy kill for a trailing P-80 on the 10th member of the squadron.

Boris got his fourth ramming kill with an absolutely perfect strike on the Winnie May that barely damaged his wings. His prop was gone but he could glide with ease towards a possible landing in some farmer’s field. Six of the other Tartans fared well, with three going down with their intended victims. All were able to get out of their damaged planes and complete their trip to earth beneath a stark white canopy of silk and destined to fly again. Nikolai Zelenko died as he bled out with a piece of the Milk Maids rudder in his neck.

The other Tartans took down another 14 bombers in twenty more semi controlled collisions and 7 Soviet pilots died along with 84 American crewmen in a matter of 2 minutes of utter chaos and horror for the bomber crews. The US had never seen this kind of attack in such a controlled and obviously choreographed manner. Some has seen the odd Kamikaze but never such an organized dance of death. It profoundly affected the thought processes of the surviving crews. This was of course, one of the main reasons to keep such a primitive form of attack in the Soviet arsenal and it was amply demonstrated here. This attack would stay in the minds of perhaps a thousand American flyers for the rest of their lives and profoundly affect every one of them forever. This was real war. No killing from afar, no shooting some machine out of the sky but physically ramming your opponent. This was personal, and this was how the Slav fought the Germans, Napoleon, the Golden Hoard and now the Americans.

Taran Near Miss

Perun

First it was the noise of the bombers engines that made everyone start to move a little faster. It was like a storm on the horizon. You could hear the distant thunder before you saw the clouds and felt the rain. Most of the ground crews had made it out of the kill zone and had started to spread out as ordered so as not to make an attractive mass target for the expected marauding Amerikosi jet fighters. They got out of their vehicles and started to move towards cover; ditches, trees, bushes, rocks but not buildings. Buildings were as much of a target as their vehicles and many had recalled enduring the same type of event that was about to befall them from the previous war only this time it was not the Stuka but something much faster and deadly.

Many had heard that the Yankee jet carried jellied gas called napalm and many had loaded their own IL10 Beasts with a similar substance. No, a building was not where you wanted to be during the coming storm. A storm made by man to kill other men. A storm of destruction only rivaled by the atomic bomb, earthquake and volcano. Some has seen the remains of Toulouse and a few has seen what had happened in Caen to the Germans. Hopefully they had gotten out in time because if they hadn’t they were dead men who were still breathing but only their last few breaths.

As the engine sounds grew louder and louder you can almost see the bomb bay doors opening and the great silver bombers start to disgorge their explosive filled metal jacketed pills into the sky. Each bomber was carrying forty 500 pound bombs and when they started to fall you could hear them. The men and women on the ground knew what was coming. Most had experienced some kind of massive barrage of high explosives either from German rockets or artillery and even some from bombs but all knew that this would be off the scale compared to those.

The first string of bombs hit a few seconds before the rest and must have been a mistake by an excited bombardier. It landed by happenstance in a grove of trees far from the intended target but right amongst a few of the crews that serviced the Tartan ramming squadrons killing three. And then all hell broke loose on the former airfield complex as 500 lb bomb after bomb after bomb after bomb started to explode in a rolling thunderstorm only rivaled by nature herself. It was one massive explosion that knocked anyone off their feet for miles around the affected area. A constant explosion as one gave way to another. Many of the ground crew went temporarily mad with some running around screaming at the top of their lungs.

One crewmen had gone back to retrieve a picture of his girl. All he could do is watch as the rolling barrage came towards him like something of out of a Cecil B. DeMille movie. A parting of the Red Sea as it were only with great gobs of earth, cement, buildings and a few trees mixed in with exploding gasoline and diesel fuel. By the time the bombs were 100 feet from him he was deaf and as he knelt to await his fate he was fascinated by all the flying debris; from the milk cow, they kept out back, to the replacement engine of a Pe-8 heavy bomber lifting into the sky and falling lazily down with in feet of him. Soon he was unconscious but not dead. He in fact would survive in an oasis of untouched earth caused by the premature release of those early bombs. Everything else was obliterated in an instant from fuel to songbirds flying overhead. 1 months’ worth of supplies for over 5,000 planes was destroyed in 15 minutes at both massive air complexes that were hastily constructed and completed just last week. Life truly is a game of inches at times.

Perun is the Slavic god of thunder and he was certainly there during the attack.[50] He is described as a rugged man with a copper beard. He rides in a chariot pulled by a goat buck and carries a mighty axe, or sometimes a hammer. The axe is hurled at evil people and spirits and will always return to his hand and he was in his element today. Hammer blow after hammer blow rained down on the forgiving earth and opened up gaping wounds in the former grass covered airfields. The term moon scape comes to mind when viewing the results. Just a gray pockmarked desecrated piece of earth still burning in many places from many sources.

Countless craters swallowed the burning wrecks of planes, parts and much needed equipment. Tires burned in black cauldrons of fire belching smoke the covered the area for days. Wildlife ceased to exist as did flowers and trees. What was a massive well-kept area that could launch a thousand planes a day was now a churning, boiling scene of utter chaos and destruction.

A pocket watch fell to the ground and landed quite delicately on a piece of sod that was green side up. It had been flung in the air almost straight up and was blow higher by another series of explosions and traveled a few hundred feet from the tent it was left in. It lay there still ticking and marking time without a scratch on it. A curious souvenir someone would collect probably in a few hours. Inside the cover was a picture of a pretty girl taken circa 1940 or so. Neither the pretty girl nor the man who used to own it would ever see it again. It would disappear into a pawn shop in a few years and lay there for a few more before another young man would purchase it and put it in his pocket never knowing where it came from or the history of its former owner.

Such was the life of well-made precious things. Destined to be passed from person to person or even taken from a dead man’s hands. There was not even a scratch to reveal the living hell it had been through on that day in October 1946. Not one single scratch or dent. Just a small piece of grass in the spring of the front cover and no one would ever even find that piece of grass much less figure it was from one of the greatest carpet bombing raids in history.

A raid that destroyed 234 Soviet planes, a month’s worth of supplies and fuel, killed 89 grounds crew and almost got Novikov killed. The fact that Baku was not touched and that it was still producing a good amount of oil for another day is what saved him. The planes, parts, fuel and even grounds crew could be replaced fairly quickly if there was oil and there still was oil at least for another 6 months.

* * *

Why did I write about the watch you might ask? It’s because I have it in my collection. How did I know where it came from? Because the picture was of my sister and it was her husband’s watch. He died in that bombing raid in 1946. Possibly you’re thinking how long did it take for me to once again bring that watch back into the families possession.

* * *

The Eyes Have It

Something was happening to his eyes as they were getting cloudier by the moment, but before he started to lose his sight he had witnessed some horrible things. He was down in the root cellar when the shockwave hit and the screams started. He ran up the stairs and outside to see what was going on and witnessed a glowing sun where the east end of Baku had been. It was only a glance but that was enough and he ran down the stairs again blinded by what he had seen.

He cowered for hours in the dark and soon realized that he heard no sounds outside of his own breathing and tapping noises he was making. The outside world was almost completely quiet. He smelled burning flesh and petroleum products but the fires must have been far off for he did not hear the flames. And flames there surely must have been, for the miniature sun was so intense it gave him a sunburn in just the few seconds he experienced it.

He had not heard of atomic bombs and knew very little about even regular bombs. He had not even fired a gun. They were too poor for such things. Now goats… he knew a lot about goats… with goats he was an expert but not with suns he was ignorant of such things. All he really knew was that there was only supposed to be one sun and it was the giver of life. This other sun brought only death.

The fact that he had a shelter to run into was a foreign concept as well. He was used to sleeping outside and watching over the goats. He had just come into Baku for the wedding of his favorite nephew when the small sun exploded.

He was frightened like never before. Not even the day he faced down the great bear in that meadow in the mountains, compared to this. He understood the danger and the risk of that encounter but he did not know what the little sun would do to him.

If what was happening to his eyes was an example it was going to be horrible.

He ventured into the sunlight but could not see much for he was already going blind. He thought of the beggars in the streets of Baku and supposed he was going to become one. He became really worried when he saw that there was no Baku left. No nephew, no brother, no bride… but there was wine.

He had heard of people drinking themselves to death. How come you could drink gallons of wine and beer but not the same amount of water? The mind wanders when you are going blind he supposed. His religion forbade killing himself so he quickly turned his thoughts to survival. Imagine surviving in a world with two suns and he could not see either of them. God worked in strange ways and he hoped that he could join his nephew in eternal peace soon. In the meantime he knew that his trials and hardships had just begun, in this new world with two suns.

* * *

What follows is a meeting between Marshal Vershinin and Stalin secretly recorded by Stalin himself.

* * *

Why?

“Marshal Vershinin, do you know why you are here?”

“I have no idea Comrade.”

“Novikov and Beria have framed you in the debacle in Baku and the other oil production facilities…”

“But Excellency I had nothing to do with the failures, comrade. I was the one who fought against stripping our forces and…”

“Quiet Konstantin I know all this. You are in the right. You did all you could do. I know who is at fault but someone has to pay and Novikov and Beria are too valuable to sacrifice, at this time. You are not.”

“I don’t understand Excellency. What are you saying?”

“I’m going to have you arrested on various trumped up charges in one hour. You can save yourself the torture that surely awaits in Beria’s favorite chair or you can go back to your room and use that gun at your side. The fact that I am telling you this in person is testament to your devotion to the Soviet Union and the communist cause. The fact that I am giving you this opportunity to take matters into your own hands shows how much personal admiration I have for you but we must be practical Konstantin.”

“I am speechless Excellency.”

“As well you should be. Now go to your room and contact your family and then do what you must.”

“Yes Excellency. One question if I may… will my family be treated well?”

“Yes Konstantin they will have the best and your son will enter the service academy next year as planned. In time you will be exonerated and will be named a true hero of the Motherland and Beria and Novikov will visit the chair meant for you. But for now you must do what I have told you.”

“Yes Excellency… Thank you.”

“You are welcome Konstantin.”

The Bluff

Novikov is pale and breathing rapidly. He was having some kind of attack. He hopes it’s only a panic attack. Beria better have switched those files. It was his only hope. Stalin was sure to have him strangled if he found out his mistake and fixation with defeating the RAF and how it had led to the oil fields… the life blood of the Red Army and Air Force… being virtually unguarded. Those files made Vershinin look guilty. He supposed that he should be feeling guilty but all he was feeling was fear.

“Yes comrade, not one single bomb fell on Baku and repairs continue on the damaged caused by the atomic bombs. The other remaining facilities were not touched as well. The raid sent by the Amerikosi was turned back after slightly damaging our airfield infrastructure…”

Novikov is alone in his office and is in an almost complete state of disarray. He is sweating and looks like a man who is talking to the devil himself. Some say he is. Some consider the man on the other end of the phone line the devil incarnate. He almost misses the cue to further twist the reality of the situation because of his lack of sleep. He had been dreading this call for hours.

“Yes comrade that is true but the losses are minimal in the larger scope of things. The oil is still flowing at the same rate as yesterday and the other facilities are being repaired rapidly. With our reserves and the captured supplies we should be able to carry out normal operations for the next 4 months in defense of the oil facilities. I am confident that we can beat back any more attempts at attacking Baku and soon any of the other facilities. I will admit that many of the other operations will have to wait until the spring. We will not be able to support fully all the operations in the West and still defend our vital oil fields.”

His mind was reeling with the possibility of his death being very imminent. His only salvation seemed to be that Stalin was under heavy sedation. He was not probing for weakness like usual and not mining his every sentence for mistakes and lies. This is what probably saved him… this time.

He did not fear that Beria would stab him in the back, for that bald cretin had as much to lose as he did. Both could be found fully culpable for the disaster that had occurred to the oil production facilities. Both could easily be tied to a chair and experiencing excruciating pain at this very moment if not for both of them holding to their agreed upon version of the truth. He had seen Beria’s second in command in action and he had no doubt that he would enjoy working on his superiors.

“Yes Excellency I fully understand the consequences of allowing others under my command to fail again and I do understand that it is ultimately my responsibility.”…

The phone in his hand suddenly jumps to life with the familiar ferocity he has come to know over the years. Stalin has garnered some strength from somewhere and is as menacing as ever. Besides being scared almost witless, Novikov wonders at how a small, frail cripple can be so threatening over a phone line. How can a pocked marked, old man be so intimidating from thousands of miles away? He personally could manage it but only when he was physically present.

“No comrade I will not let those responsible avoid responsibility and they will be punished appropriately.” … “Yes… I understand perfectly.”

* * *

LeMay was a terrible writer and we have taken the liberty of paraphrasing some of his entries. We know what he was thinking and from other sources we know the circumstances at the time of his musings.

* * *

Could the Third Time be the Charm?

October 2nd, 1946

The turnaround was one of the fastest ever accomplished by a thousand plane long distance raid, like the kind just launched. In just under 8 hours the majority of SACs forces were lined up and ready to make the long flight once again to the Baku area. LeMay knew that time was not on his side and he had to hit the area hard and continuously until the job was done. Defeat was not an option and all knew it. You don’t lose when you are being commanded by Curtis LeMay. You don’t even consider defeat because he can see it in your eyes.

Once again the big bombers glided down the runways. Majestic as they were deadly. The CBs had made the runways as smooth as could be while using the Marston Matting that was so ubiquitous in the Pacific in the Second World War. It worked well on the hard packed sand that Egypt was made of. A great invention that made it possible to put a runway on even the most desolate of landscapes. It was a pretty simple concept as most great inventions are. Two millions tons of matting had been made and some of it was being put to good use in Egypt, Cyprus, Crete and Turkey.

The fighters waited until the bombers where overhead before they rolled down their runways from various bases in Turkey and a few islands along the way. The ramming attacks of yesterday were on the minds of all who got into a plane. The tenacity the Reds had shown with those attacks was a very large psychological weapon and that is why Novikov and the VVS still used them. How could you defeat such and enemy? The pragmatist would say that we already did defeat such and enemy when we crushed the scourge of the Kamikaze. Others might not be so confident we can do it again. The man who was giving the orders was sure it could be done again and one way or the other he was determined to win.

The first raid had been a sucker punch. The second raid had been a body blow. Now he has to take a few head shots if his opponent was going to be finally defeated. He was not so naive as to believe that the VVS would fail to get off the deck before the count reached 10 and would come roaring back with all it had. LeMay knew his opponent as well has he knew himself. Novikov and he had been cut from the same piece of cloth. Both were willing to take calculated risks and played the odds; both would also know when to put it all in and It was time. No more feints, no more dancing around, it was time to go toe to toe and both leaders knew it.

LeMay has pushed all his chips into the middle of the table and now it was time to see what Novikov had. It was time to see who would fold first. For the first time in his life LeMay had a small voice in the back of his brain creating the slightest thread of doubt. How improved had the Soviet’s missiles become? How many jet fighters would rise up to face his own? How many losses could the US leadership endure? Every time it had been sustained at over 10% they had pulled back. It had been stressed during the meetings and trainings that both the ground to air and air to air missiles were less than 10% effective yet how do you convince the squadron commanders who’s planes that ten percent would hit, to stay the course no matter what; to knowingly sacrifice your crew for the good of the squadron. Then when the squadron leader was taken out how do you count on the next in secession to step up and put his crew in such grave jeopardy?

All it took was for one squadron leader to veer out of formation taking his formation with him and utter chaos reigned in a tightly packed raid. This was amply demonstrated in the Leningrad Raid. The RAF Bomber command had faced down the Stalin’s Fire Missiles and had not panicked and has still sustained losses of 15%. Historically that was enough to cause HQ to stop the raids until other tactics could be developed. In the case of the bombing campaign over Germany it has been to let the fighters and fighter bombers loose on the airfields and infrastructure of the Luftwaffe and it had worked. Many had doubts that it would work against the far more numerous and initially well supplied Red Air Force.

The Japanese and Germans had been defeated because of the lack of fuel to both train new pilots and to power their fighters to defend their oil production facilities. The atomic bombs had gone a long way towards stopping the Reds oil production. The real question was did they have enough stockpiled to weather the next few months and would their missiles be deadly enough to stop our bombers. Would they be sufficient to make a difference?

LeMay’s supply line was very long and just starting to ramp up. Could he keep the bombers in the air in the numbers needed until he reached the crucial tipping point; the tipping point where one side of the other started to run out of resources; be it pilots, planes, ammunition, fuel or guts. He calculated that he had to reach two to one odds or greater within 60 days to start the long slow slide of attiring the VVS. 60 days of heavy losses on both sides. Would the American public stand for such losses? Would the men themselves figure out the odds and be willing to play with their lives. This raid would be crucial and would set the baseline for future operations. Each side would be at its strongest and each side had the resources to burn in their internal combustion engines, but for how long.

His mission was twofold. Number one was to stop the oil from flowing and number two was to clear the skies of the Soviet planes enough for the coming invasions. The invasions themselves were out of his hands. He was trying to land body blows to make the opponent drop his hands. The coming spring operations were to be the knock out punches. In the fight game you take a lot of punishment yourself trying to land blows to the body of a skilled opponent. He made you pay for every shot you took with jabs and head shots of his own. Sometimes you were forced to lead with your own chin like Rocky Marciano, that new kid he saw fight for the Army. He was cut up real bad in almost every fight but got the job done after his first few blows finally hit home. That kid could take a punch and he could deliver one as well. He knew the boys of SAC could too but could the politicians watching from the sidelines keep from throwing that towel into the ring and stop the fight prematurely. The Brits had and so had we in Western Europe. All strategic bombing has stopped in Germany and France. The Brits were on their knees and were finally getting the help they needed from the USAAF.

Sacrificing the RAF has worked but not as well as planned. Novikov had moved too fast and LeMay had expected at least two full weeks of virtually unopposed bombing on the oil production facilities of the USSR before the missiles and jet fighters of the VVS showed up in sufficient numbers to place the operation in jeopardy. He only got 4 days. Novikov was either a mind reader or very, very good at his job.

Once again the big bombers started to roll and it never failed to send a shiver up his spine of all that power and destructive capability launching on his command. The losses from all forms such as attrition, accidents and combat losses had been seven percent for the last raid. Early indications were that they had destroyed a months’ worth of Soviet supplies. Not bad for a day’s work but much more was needed… much more. The calculations were that he would face over a hundred ground to air missiles, over 400 air to air missiles carried by 100 modified Tu2s Bat medium bombers and the lumbering Pe 9 Beaches, along with 100 or so of those He 162 cloned — Stalin’s Darts and 300 other jet fighters of the Yak 15 Feather and Mig 9 Fargo variety. Add in the estimated 2,000 conventional fighters that could effectively reach 24,000 feet and have enough speed to at least make a pass or two at the bombers and you had a formidable enemy contingent to deal with.

He didn’t quite have 1000 planes. Launching from the Middle East based were 523 B-29s and from Turkey and the islands were 419 P-80 Shooting Stars. The P-80s were going to have to have to keep the Fargos, Feathers, Darts, Beeches and Bats busy, while the Superfortresses were going to have to defend themselves from the thousands of Yak 9s Franks and La 7 Fins. Once one of those Red missiles were launched there was nothing yet devised to help the B-29 survive. It was just luck of the draw whether the missile performed or not. They appeared easy to evade if you were in a fighter or medium bomber and had room to maneuver, but in a tightly packed formation of relatively slow super bombers, you were pretty much dead meat if the missile worked as designed. Many a bomber pilot will be sorely tempted to drop out of formation to see just how hard it will be to evade a missile or two but they would then risk collision and more important the ire of LeMay. Most were more afraid of LeMay than any missile.

This raid should be a real test of the concept of the usefulness of the manned bomber in modern warfare. The words of wisdom uttered early in the war were “the bomber will always get through” was about to be tested as never before. The USAAF has based its post war strategy on that adage. When combined with the atomic bomb it seem a pretty safe bet but then came along the guided missile and the Soviet agent George Koval and all bets were off. When an immovable object met an unstoppable force, what would be the results? The world was about to find out.

William Perl at Home

For the first time since he was married he did not want to go home. Maybe it was because he had just finished the last piece and solved the last challenge to the newest jet engine of the USSR. Maybe it was because he was feeling a little guilty knowing what this engine in the excellent MiG 15 fighter design would do to his former country’s B-29s. It would not be pretty. The P-80 didn’t stand a chance. The swept back wing was the key to more speed and his engine gave it more speed.

As heartless as it sounded he didn’t want to see his wife. She was still the most gorgeous women he had ever imagined being with but now he wanted more. He wanted conversation and real feelings. Oh she was a good actress but she was not smart. Not even a bad conversationalist about normal matters but he wanted to talk about abnormal matters. Oh he didn’t know what he wanted. He just wanted change. He was sure he could get what he wanted but he was hesitant to approach anyone with the ultimate solution.

He wanted Jill Stone. He was in love with her from the get go. She was smart and pretty enough to satisfy his every need. They talked for hours that summer they spent together, but she was not here in Siberia with him. She was in Pittsburg waiting tables the last he heard because no one hired a female physicist.

But here… who knew. There were plenty of female scientists working with him. Maybe here she could be happy at what she wanted to do. As he recalled it was particle physics. He was so busy telling her what he was doing he had not listened to her when she had talked about her own dreams. He had just watched her face light up and how her body has moved when she got up and paced around the room. She was one of those women who did not know how good she looked or cared.

He had not been able to reach her when he decided to make a run for it. She might have come. She was as a committed communist as he was; possibly more so. He wanted to be with her in the worst way. He wanted to talk with her like he did that summer for hours and hours on end.

But how did one approach someone to inquire about getting rid of his current wife and replacing her with another that was still in America? Who do you call for that kind of thing? That had not been covered in his orientation to the Workers’ Paradise here on the other side of the world. He had to have someone approach her and convince her to leave the capitalist life behind and to work for a better world and as a bonus she could be his wife.

He needed a distraction. Maybe he should volunteer to work on that anti-ship missile that the Red Navy keeps bugging Sergo for. He heard that Sergo didn’t want to let the guidance system be used in uncontrolled circumstances, circumstances where the enemy could get its hands on an unexploded missile or more importantly it’s guidance system. He certainly understood that thinking. The US has not wanted to us the proximity fuse in Europe for fear the Germans would get a hold of some. Funny thing was that they did capture a couple of hundred thousand during the Battle of the Bulge but apparently didn’t understand their significance. Barr and Sobel had delivered a fully functional prototype to Beria in 1944 but Sergo concentrated on the Wasserfal and X4 instead. Again the irony is that now the Soviets had millions of American made VT fuses thanks to the overrunning of the storage depots and Barr and Sobel buying millions and shipping them to the Soviets before the war. American capitalists sure are greedy, but then again so were the leaders he had contact with here. Possibly it was just a part of the human condition that nothing could be done about it. The only way to control it was for other humans to control the more greedy ones.

Enough philosophizing and time to think about Jill. Maybe he would go home and screw his “wife” while thinking of Jill. That could work for a while anyway. Come to think of it she did look similar if she had light brown hair. Maybe if he had her dye it from the blond she pretended to be. They were about the same size and if he could just have her not talk during sex. She had a very slight accent that distracted from his Jill fantasy. How do you tell your wife to shut up and screw?

The Choice

They could hear footsteps above their heads. Somehow Sasha was keeping her baby quiet. The soldiers of the NKVD were searching the village and surrounding countryside for this group of people. We don’t exactly know why or what they were searching for but we knew what the results would be as they had demonstrated in the village 5 miles south of us. The villagers were found, shot and buried in a mass grave. No explanation was given. The theory was that one of them was a relative of Lavrentiy Beria and he was convinced that somehow, something this person knew would harm him and that all the others who he or she knew might have been told as well. Beria was not one to sort out the wheat from the chaff. His preferred method was to burn the whole field, then salt the soil so nothing could ever grow there again. Now he was searching for the wheat field that he thought required such treatment and this brought the boots above their heads to this exact location.

Just as they closed the trap door to their hiding place Sasha’s newborn daughter started to whimper. No doubt her feelings of discomfort were caused by sensing her mother’s growing terror at the situation that was unfolding over their heads. In addition the soldiers were smashing and breaking things in their haste to find this group now hiding beneath their feet. Yet somehow the baby was being kept quiet. From past experience with this particular child Victor was prepare to smother the baby if need be to save the rest of the group from slaughter. One sickly baby, compared to a dozen others, was not a hard choice for him to make.

It was completely dark as the hiding place was well insulated from light and prying eyes. They had been very careful in both designing and building the space and had actually been through this type of search before and had not been caught. It would seem that the village to the South was constantly renouncing them and slandering them to whatever authority happened to be “investigating” this or that. One easy way to save your life in this day and age was to deflect the insanity that had gripped the world onto someone else. Show the NKVD a shiny object and they left you along. Today they were that shiny object and they had no idea why; all they knew was that they had to hide. Before they let Sasha and the baby into the hiding place they had all agreed that if the baby started to cry it would be killed to save them all. Even Sasha agreed. She might have agreed as an attempt to save herself and daughter but it wouldn’t have mattered. If the baby even started to cry is would be smothered.

Everything was proceeding well. Then just as the soldiers were making the most noise the baby made a fussing noise. One little utterance but you knew what was coming and nothing could stop it. But it had stopped immediately and was not heard by the troops over their heads. It was utterly dark so most did not know what had happened to make the child be quiet. Had it been smothered? Had it stopped on its own? A couple of the women were struggling to hold back tears for they knew that you cannot stop a baby from crying once they started fussing in that manner. Sasha or someone, had done something drastic and immediate, to quiet the child and they feared the worst. There was no groping sounds for a nipple no cooing or sucking sounds, just complete silence; utter and devastating silence.

It seemed like hours before the soldiers left. No one made a sound and they stayed still for another hour after the soldiers had left. As the leader raised the opening a little the others were amazed at what they saw. Sasha had her mouth over her child’s face. It covered both nose and mouth and she was breathing for them both. You could tell the baby was fit to be tide but her mother had matched her exhales with her own and no sound was forthcoming. She then sent a small puff of air from her lungs into the baby’s mouth and nose thus providing the needed oxygen. Then she would suck it out again and in essence exhale for the child as well. You could tell she was exhausted but would not stop until everyone had exited the space.

It seems that Sasha was a member of the Young Pioneers and before the first war a British delegation from the Royal Humane Society Campaign Group for first aid and resuscitation had put on a demonstration of a technique they had been using and advocating since the turn of the century. It was used in many of the swimming beaches and pools of Great Britain. Sasha had been fascinated by the demonstration and had even become an instructor in this life saving technique. She had even saved a boy’s life at Young Pioneer Camp who, had for all intents and purposes, died of drowning. Yet to the amazement of all involved she brought him back to life.

No one knew what this technique was called and no one mentioned it again. Some kind of witchcraft was obviously performed. But the days of witches was over. Was that why the soldiers came? No one really thought so but one never knew. Sasha disappeared in the night with her baby so nothing had to be done anyway.

Far Sight

Vasily had finally got the right parts for the captured Amerikosi radar set. He could see through the subterfuge of the Russian labels and such. It was American alright. Fine workmanship to be sure, but the newest Soviet sets he had worked on were not far behind in quality. Quality mattered at this stage of the war. Previously it was quantity but now the emphasis had been on excellence, at least in aviation and electronics. He had no idea of where all these obviously Western made electronic components were coming from but they were coming now at a faster and faster pace. He couldn’t believe that they had captured so many useful things. It was like someone went to the US and went on a shopping spree.

Crystal diodes, resistors, capacitors, vacuum tubes and relays were showing up by the thousands and when combined with the Russian knack for ingenuity born of scarcity, they were accomplishing some amazing things. The radar set he was tinkering with here in the forward base was just such a unit. It was a threefold improvement over the original Amerikosi unit he had started with. The range was remarkable and his scope was rapidly filling up with very fast moving blips. Yes they were blips and not blobs. Another vast improvement over the earlier models, he was forced to use. These new diodes were a wonder compared to what he had to work with before. We might not be able to make them yet but we most certainly knew how to use them to their greatest advantage.

The raid was not as big as yesterdays. “This is Vasily here. We have multiple and large formations of planes coming from the Southeast and they are being joined by others rising at a fast rate from near Yuksekova, Turkey. He had started to pick up something near Duhok, Turkey and the formation just kept on getting larger and larger as more planes were added. He was picking them up at nearly 400 km, really astounding progress with the new components that he was given to use.

He had spotted and sent out the warning about the turn to the north yesterday. I would think that today they would listen to him a little bit harder and not ignore his warnings like they did of a full 15 minutes on the previous raid. His immediate supervisor had passed the warning up but his superior had not and now he was on his way to Siberia from all accounts. He had actually been given a pair of his boots as a reward. They were excellent boots as well. He needed them here in this place with no heat near Dustan just over from the Turkish border. He hoped the Amerikosi could not detect his powerful radar or at least ignored it.

He and his generator and support team were almost dropped by parachute until cooler minds prevailed. The Stavka was so desperate to gain a few extra kilometers of early warning that he had almost been pushed out of a plane instead of landing in a field. Say what you will, those little Po-2s planes still had a purpose and had ferried him and his men here to Meghri in no time.

He heard his commander relaying his sighting data to what sounded like Novikov himself. On the one hand he hoped not but on the other he was kind of proud that what he was doing was so important to the homeland. He only wished they had listened to him yesterday and maybe more could have been saved and more Amerikosi bombers shot down.

“What the Hell”

The landing craft lifted a good 10 feet before it settled back down to where they could start to climb up the rope nets. Once you got on you had to move fast and climb at least 11 feet before the boat came up and knocked you in the water and you were crushed between two metal walls. Earl had seen that happen a few times.

“What the hell are we doing this for Corp? This is nuts. You look at any map and there is just no place that we are going to need to amphibious invade on our way to Moscow. This is FUBAR Corp. Day after day climbing up and down, pretending to invade some foreign shore. What a waste of time and my energy.

I interrogated dozens of Nazis after the war and not one of them made an amphibious assault on their way to the outskirts of Moscow. Maybe a few river crossings but nothing that involved real LCTs, LSTs, DUCKS and other all this other shit. It’s almost like they had to find a way to use all this equipment left over from the invasion of Japan or something. Sounds like something the Army would do. “We bought it so we have to use it” or some shit like that.”

“Shut up and climb Sims… here comes the wave and we don’t want you getting your pants wet now do we?”

Earl scrambled up a little faster although he knew he was high enough based on his previous couple of dozen climbs under similar circumstances. Hell he figured he had three feet to spare so he was not worried but he moved a little faster to shut the Corporal up.

Boy that guy was irritating. Is that how they pick corporals? You take the most irritating guy and put him in charge. Asshole! He knew how far the Goddamn boat was going to rise better than he did. That asshole missed the first 2 weeks of this shit and here he is telling me what to do.

Four weeks of going down the nets into the boats. Watching Jennings get seasick… every goddamn time… then we scramble out onto the rocky shore and shoot at imaginary Reds. The Navy lobs a few shells over our heads and we fix bayonets and charge off the beach and stab a few straw bales and dive into a ditch and get up and run up that same god damn hill. It was almost like they knew exactly where they were going to land and attack even now. How could they know that at this stage of the war?

He wished he could see the topo map the lieutenant was always looking at. Maybe that would give him a clue as to where in the world they were going to attack. Ah hell what did it matter all he had to do was to follow orders from guys like this asshole corporal.

“We have an extra treat for you clowns today… two climbs down the net and up again. Seems the Major didn’t like your cavalier attitude. He doesn’t think your serious enough. Serious enough to fight the commies and win and that’s all he cares about. All he cares about is winning.

NOW GET YOUR ASSES BACK ON THE NETS AND BACK IN THOSE BOATS! AND THIS

TIME DO IT SERIOUSLY”, the Corporal yells dripping with sarcasm… “or we’ll do it again.” All the non-coms start to yell at the same time. It’s all jumbled together but you know what they want so down you go and wait for the landing craft to rise up and then you climb down as fast

as you can and wait again for it to come up and greet you like some deranged metal wave and if you time it right you don’t jump on your squad mate and you land without twisting your ankle or breaking anything and scramble out of the way of another falling squaddie and all the time trying to look “serious” for the major.

He can’t even see your face from up there where he’s standing. I can’t see his so he can’t see mine. Everything smells old and musty. All this equipment and even his uniform was in storage in some island in the Pacific and reeks of rotting vegetation and wet canvas. Jees there goes Jennings again right on time. Disgusting, how can you puke so much

Chapter Twenty One:

Change of Strategy

Soviet sniper

* * *

A number or Soviet snipers in WWII had over 400 kills with one claiming over 700. The top ten snipers in history are all Soviets.

* * *

Moving On

Yeorgi was going home. He was leaving his trench near the creek with the desmans and was going back to his beloved Caucasus Mountains where he could also be around the little moles. Why had those creatures been put in only two places on earth and why had he been brought up in one and become a man in another. His part of the Pyrenees Line had not changed in months and he and his desmans have had a fine time of it but now it was time to move on and the rumor had it that his unit was going to be assigned to the Southern Front and was going to either march on the Levant or the oil fields in Iraq.

He was going to miss his dozen or so furry rodents he had watched for hours through his sniper scope but he knew that the area they were going to temporarily also had a good population of desmans for him to befriend. It was all that made this nightmare bearable. He had shot over 30 Americans and Spanish. A number of them looked like his cousins. He was having nightmares composed of exploding heads. You just can’t kill fellow human beings day after day watching them die by your hands close up through a sniper scope and not be affected.

He was not a natural born killer. He was just a good shot. He had natural abilities for hitting a target no matter if it was a piece of paper or a human head. Nine times out of ten if he could see it he could hit it. That didn’t mean that he enjoyed it or even felt proud of it. How “manly is it to kill someone while they are taking a shit or brushing their teeth. It was cowardly in his opinion but the commissar did not ask his opinion. He just wanted dead Amerikosi. He just wanted to take credit for Yeorgi’s record number of kills… kills… yes kills. That’s exactly what he was doing. He was killing some other father, son, brother or lover and for what?

Maybe if there were like the Germans who raped their way through the Ukraine and tortured their way to the gates of Moscow. How would his killing these 30 men stop the Amerikosi from dropping atomic bombs on his little village?

What was that idiot doing? Why didn’t his compatriots pull him down and under cover? Did they not care. Oh no the commissar sees him too and I have to kill him.. He knows I can see him. He knows I cannot miss at this distance. Shit! I have to do this.

“Nice shot comrade. That makes what 31 or 32?”

“I lose track comrade commissar.”

“That’s ok Yeorgi I will keep track for you. I saw that one from my scope. Wonderful shot, just wonderful.”

“Thank you commissar.” Yeorgi said but he was thinking… I’ll be seeing that in my nightmares tonight and for many nights to come. What was that idiot thinking? I was his fault and I had no choice, no choice. I had to take the shot it was so blatant an infraction of any kind of military discipline or even common sense even for a new person. What was that Amerikosi thinking? Now I will be thinking about him for the rest of my life, thinking of how his head just exploded from the eyes downward. How the jaw just hung open and even twitched and how his body did not comprehend what had just happened to it. How it sat there for a few seconds before it toppled over. Yes he would be seeing this one forever, possibly every night over and over again. It would be mixed up with the many others but it would always be there, night after night in his nightmares.

Suicide by Sniper

Bill had just got a “Dear John” letter from his high school sweetheart, his one and only. On top of that he had just lost his best friend Miller to a napalm attack. He couldn’t sleep and had been up for three days straight thinking about the hell he was living and how he just wanted it to stop. He wanted the pain and suffering he saw around him every day to just stop but he could do nothing about it.

He had fought starting on D-Day up until the end of the war and had seen horrible things but the new weapons that each side in this fight where using on each other was inhumane by any standard, especially napalm. He had a lifelong fear of fire anyway and to see your best friend consumed by fire in front of your eyes screaming for you to shoot him and stop the pain had just been too much. Combined with losing his girl… “his girl”, Jenny, it was just too much for him to take.

By letting the sniper take his life he would be able to give his mother some money from his life insurance policy. If he had just put gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger she would get nothing but if he just leaned a little bit further forward from his post on the wall he would be an easy target and knowing the skill of that commie sniper they had over there, he would be dead quite quickly and painlessly before his brain had time to register what happened.

All in all a good solution for his physical and mental pain that had become unbearable. First his father had been killed when his tractor rolled over him, leaving his ma to try and run the placeby herself. Jenny had come over to help and they had hired some drifter as a hired hand. Then Miller had been burned alive before his very eyes and the next day the letter from Jenny arrived telling him she was running away with the hired hand… it was all just too much for his 20 year old brain to handle and he had just leaned over a little bit too far knowing what would happen, and it did.

Whoever had killed, Jones and Edwards had just killed him. The last thing that went through his mind was the phrase “suicide by sniper” and that was it.

The Bridge

Rene had never seen so many trucks. Trucks carrying both men and tanks and all headed East. He had concerns that the bridge would hold after such a pounding. The tanks had come by the dozens and under their own power fighting their way at times. Now they were just passengers on trains and large trucks going back the direction they had come from. I guess tanks are meant to fight and not to travel long distances, Rene thought. He really didn’t care why. I’m sure the commander will be glad to hear it one way or the other. They are leaving Southern France and that is all that matters for now. Why in the world would they be headed east? Could the Americans be attacking somewhere else?

He had heard about the atomic bombs, so maybe they were going to that area. Once again it did not matter too much to him just as long as they were gone. Rene was not a very curious man for being a sometimes spy for NATO. He spied whenever he found or observed something worth passing on. He did not go looking for trouble but if it was going past his car at 50 kilometers per hour he would take notice and pass that information on.

He was going to be here all day from the looks of the dust clouds coming from the mountains. He personally hated the mountains. Too many things that could kill you. He understood the sea but being high up made him breathe hard and who needed that to be added to their woes. Too many other things that can go wrong besides not being able to breath.

He noticed a strange looking engine on the train he was watching at a distance from his vantage point where he was stuck anyway by the military traffic of the Red Army. It looked more like a rolling fortress than an engine. It had multiple what looked like tank turrets mounted on top. Rene shrugged. I suppose you can do anything if you have the will, he thought. It certainly looked intimidating and that is what the Ruskies loved big things that looked intimidating similar to the Germans in a way.

Merde! They were really on the move in enormous numbers and all heading east. Borscht sucking scum… he would miss their vodka however. He had acquired a taste for it along the way as it was the only thing available in some towns. He was not tight with the Ruskie like the mayor and the council members. He doubted that the mayor and the council would be run out of town like the Vichy when the Red finally left and the town thought it could retaliate without being burned down like so many during the time of the hated Boche.

Besides many of the city leaders were former resistance fighters and most were communist for many, many years. Who could blame them for putting in place a government that they thought would save the world. It was much better than the time of terror or even the Vichy. It was amazing to him that his own people could be so cruel to their neighbors.

Let’s see that makes roughly 6 battalions by his count with over 200 tanks. They were those big ones that had the turret with no neck kind of like a short helmet and that massive gun that they had mounted on those beasts. The whole effect was horrifying. Must be hard to knock that pot off the body he mused. Well that was up whoever faced those steel monsters and not him. He was part of the earth here. One way or the other he would never leave. One day his body would nourish the ground he was now squatting on and perhaps the small tree he was using for cover would grow big and tall on the chemicals and nutrients his body put back into the soil. No, he would never leave here and that was just fine with him.

Konstantin

Zhukov was intrigued with the idea of invading the Turk, the Ottoman Empire, the former scourge of the south and the peoples who had terrified many generations of Russian children. He was going to avenge the Byzantine empire and once again bring Constantinople into the sphere of civilization once again.

Individually the Turk was a formidable fighter but collectively he was a disaster. He expected to eliminate the Amerikosi airfields that were being used in Turkey to be over-run in as little as 45 days once the assault started. Constantinople’s walls would be no impediment to a modern army as they had been for thousands of years first to keep out the Mongol, then the Turk and finally the west.

The art of war had progressed too far for the old walls to withstand a 122mm shell or a 46 ton tank. The Soviet soldier was the undisputed master of city warfare so he expected little trouble in first by-passing and then eliminating any resistance there. With the Turk no longer in control of the Bosphorus or collectively the Turkish straits and the Black Sea fleet could start to harass the British and Yankee boats that have so far plagued his plans. That Sergo character had promised to unleash his missiles if a worthy target presented itself and he had more conventional weapons ready to fight the B-29, Shooting Star and RAF Meteor. It was some kind of new jet that would bring superiority to the VVS over the skies of the battlefield.

He just wanted the pesky boats gone. He had seen the devastation they had created near Le Havre and now had to take detours to bring his forces to bear on the Turk. He had to stay a good 30 miles from the shore of the various seas in the area for fear of intervention by the naval forces of the imperialist pigs.

The irony of Sergo not using the missiles on the ships was that the guidance system was initially designed to target ships. His fear of an unexploded warhead falling into the hands of NATO was somewhat warranted but not enough to allow the Western navies the unfettered freedom they possessed currently. That would have to be addressed especially when his forces got closer to the Levant and the Suez. Sergo’s missiles would have to be used for what they were designed for.

As he stared at the line of tank transports and train loads of forces crawling along the mountain roads from his command car in his armored train he suddenly turned and his aide quickly came to his side knowing that something was about to occur that meant his life was about to change. He knew his Marshal very well and the twitching of the jaw always meant something significant was about to happen.

Zhukov spoke in the low rumble that was his trademark for beginning an important statement. It forced you to get closer even knowing that the volume and pitch that frequently came would physically force you to take a step back. But that initial beginning made you lean in close knowing what was to come and what was to follow. It was an effective technique that had never failed Zhukov nor failed to frustrate and intimidate his subordinates.

The aide knew by now that the first few sentences were more of a stalling tactic while the Marshal collected his thoughts for verbal communication. Kind of like clearing your throat or a platitude filled welcoming statement about how pleased he was to be in your company. Zhukov did not use platitudes so he unconsciously used the technique he had developed over the many years of commanding men, commanding them to give their very lives for an idea and in sometimes great numbers.

Finally the essence of the order came to the fore and the aide did not need to lean in to hear it.

“Bring Konstantine to me. He is the one who has been working on masking the true nature of the Stalin’s Fire missile’s guidance system.”

“Of course comrade.”

The aide thought to himself, that was not what I expected. What is that old fox up to now? He was never bored in this position. The marshal’s other aide had made it through the war against the Nazis only to be killed by a stray bullet from an unknown source while standing next to Zhukov while he was touring the newly captured city of Berlin. He was in the right or wrong place at the right or wrong time depending on your point of view and had been ordered to step in and be the marshal’s aide. Luckily he was a natural and Zhukov had no complaints that he knew of.

He quickly walked the length of the train and entered what had easily become the most disorganized mess anyone had ever seen that was the command car of the undisputed master of maskirovka. A man no one ever heard of or knew existed.

The master of deception had his back to the door and did not turn around when the compartment was bathed in sunlight and cold air.

“Close the door and what do you want?” He muttered without even turning around. “Marshal Zhukov will see you now comrade. I will lead you to him.”

Konstantin slowly turned and without hesitation or argument and literally dropped what he was working on, thus causing a metallic crashing noise which filled the compartment and immediately started to move towards the front of the train. The aide did not look to see what was dropped but was once again struck by the empty eye sockets and the emaciated face of this master of deception. The man was obviously totally blind yet was able to function at an incredibly high level of proficiency as long as he was in the train or confined area. One tour around any area feeling with his feet and hands and it was ingrained in his memory. Unless something was moved by someone else, he could move with alarming speed that belied his blindness.

Found abandoned on the steps of a hospital in Moscow he was born without eyes and his anophthalmia was very acute. He barely even had eye sockets. Zhukov’s aid had the duty of researching the past of anyone who came in contact with the Marshal. In his research he had found that Konstantin was amazing from birth in his ability to use his other senses to overcome what would be a crippling deformity to others. Possibly his lack of sight made it easier for him to fool others who had relied so heavily on sight. Whatever the cause he was indeed a master of maskirovka and responsible for many of the decisions Zhukov had made in this realm of smoke and mirrors.

As usual Konstantin led the way barely feeling his path. Everyone knew when he was coming and made way by clearing a course through their space for his transverse. You never wanted to be the cause of accidentally inflicting harm on this man.

They reached Marshal Zhukov in less time than it took the aide to originally traverse the length of the train. Konstantin did not stop and all knew that he was not to be stopped. They marched right up to the marshal and then waited to be addressed. The marshal was busy with another matter but immediately stopped the conversation and greeted Konstantin warmly. This always surprised the aide and made him a little jealous. But then again he had never saved Zhukov’s life or the lives of hundreds of thousands of soviet soldiers either. As Zhukov hugged Konstantin

the aide could tell that he was adverse to this particular kind of greeting and he thought, maybe that is why Zhukov does this to him.

As usual Zhukov started out speaking in his rumbling bass voice to draw Konstantin in but Konstantin did not fall for the bait as usual. They had been through many a challenge together and knew each other’s ways only too well. Finally the Marshal came to the point after articulating it in his mind.

“Konstantin old friend, what has been done to mask the true nature of the Stalin’s Fire missile guidance system?”

“Comrade Zhukov, we have done any number of things per Sergo’s orders and a few of our suggestions have been used as well. We have “provided” the NATO intelligence service with a number of opportunities to avail themselves of dummy units. So far they have only retrieved 2 out of twelve presented to them. The rest have gone unnoticed where they have remained so as to not increase suspicion.

Of the two actually reaching the NATO scientific staff both would have appeared to be guided by the German Fritz X system or the FuG 230 system. We are sure the NATO scientists have received and tested these units. We know they are still baffled and are unsure as to why their jamming techniques have not worked so far when they obviously have worked in the past. The only possible flaw in this plan is that it does defy physics so they will eventually discern that it must be a ruse. It has bought us valuable time to strengthen other weapons and strategies.

Zhukov moves to the center of the rail car and crosses his arms.

“The time is coming where we will need Stalin’s Fire to rain down on NATOs boats. It is coming soon. It will mean the difference between winning the war and defeat. NATO is free to roam the oceans and strike at us where they will. We now have the means to stop this. We now have the weapon we need to sweep the oceans clean of capitalist war machines and fill the void with our own. Mark my words Konstantin the time is coming and coming quickly. We will need Sergo’s acquiescence on this matter in order to convince Comrade Stalin and the STAVKA. Stalin’s Fire must be used and soon and that is where your special talents come in Konstantin. You must come up with the ultimate maskirovka just in case the a warhead falls into NATO’s lap like the enigma machine or the so called Battle of the Beams. We have to make them believe that when the real solution does present itself to them that they reject it out of hand.”

“It is pretty unbelievable in reality so that maybe not as hard as you think. At this point we do not want to even get them thinking down the same path as the real solution. Possibly something like the enigma machine or some rudimentary computation device to throw them once again off the obvious path that they have ignored could be used. We will give them so many clues that they will not know which ones are pertinent.

Sergo is so concerned that they will discover the truth yet he will not tell anyone how to defeat the system he is using. He claims it is very simple but no one else seems to know what he

is thinking and how to effectively counter it. We do have to plan on there being someone in what remains of the capitalist world who can think like Sergo. It would be foolish for us to think otherwise.

So far it has been a common fault of the Amerikosi who seem to think that they have invented everything and no one else can match their accomplishments. It is to our advantage to keep them thinking this way.”

“Da, you are correct Konstantin. We must keep using the power of maskirovka for a few more months until we are totally caught up to the Amerikosi and Limeys. Their sense of superiority is a great advantage to us because it blinds them to the real possibilities of a communist system. It is to our advantage to keep them thinking we are the blunt, dumb instrument of Stalin who only know the hammer and sickle and couldn’t possibly equal them in the sciences. The longer they believe that trope, the longer the time we have to defeat them.

“When we finally are “allowed” to use the system for its original purpose, we will not have to worry about the NATO boats anymore. There is no reason that the system cannot be placed on the German V2 rocket as well. At a distance of 320 km it will far out range those guns that have kept us from the coasts. They will no longer be able to supply islands like Britain or bring their tanks from across the seas. What good will their factories be if they cannot land machines or provide the fuel to run them. If we stop their navies we will stop them from invading the motherland and our new jets will meet them in the skies. We just needed the time to breath after our destruction of the Nazi pigs. We are now ready to once again defend ourselves.

First we have to push the Amerikosi farther away from our oil fields, further away from our homes, further away from our families. Maybe then they will leave us alone. We need to conquer the Turk and then drive them out of the Mediterranean. We need to close both ends of that sea. We need to destroy the Suez Canal and take Gibraltar from the British but first we need to take the airfields from the Turks and expand the perimeter. Then our planes must keep us safe while we rebuild once again.“

Zukov’s armored train 1946

Teach a Man to Fish

The Fisherman was out on the lake as always catching the species of trout that only lived in this body of water. The waves were only a couple of inches without any white caps and the sun was shining bright and clear, which was unusual for this time of year. It was about 20 degrees Celsius and just a beautiful fall day to be out fishing. The Fisherman appreciated the weather but he would have been out all day anyway. He was floating on a pristine lake in Armenia, Lake Sevan to be exact, and today he was being disturbed.

Frequently now the capitalist bombers passed over a couple of times a week but they were so high and there was nothing to bomb here, that it was only the noise they made that was out of the ordinary. He had gotten used to them as had the fish he was certain.

He was floating just a mile off the coast from the old monastery when he heard the first of what was to be hundreds of trucks. The monastery had been closed for many decades but the buildings were still upright and strong. The ghosts of the warrior monks who defended the land for centuries keep most away.

These trucks were of a newer model and different make than the few he has seen in his life and they were full of soldiers; soldiers of the Red Army who looked to be on their way to a major battle and not just an excursion into the hinterlands of the USSR. This would be an unusual invasion route into the Turkish lands he mused. I guess if you want to catch an enemy unaware you do the unusual. Yet here they were and he was sure that they would try and catch his fish.

Lake Sevan was 78 km long and 58 wide and he had rowed every inch of it. He had heard that it was 95 meters deep as well placing it as one of the largest lakes in the world and it was located 1900 meters high surrounded by mountains. All in all it was one of the most beautiful places on earth but the Fisherman knew no other so to him it was just home. He fished to live and lived to fish, selling his catch to another who came to him in a powerboat and bought what he could not eat. Most of the time he was paid in kind and that is what he preferred. Salt, thread, cloth, line, hooks, all things he needed to survive and to keep his boat afloat and his small sail patched. He was being taken advantage of by the men in the power boat but he did not care of even knew this was the case.

He probably did not even own the land his shack was on but no one knew who did so by default he did. If you found an empty piece of land, you lived there and it was then it was yours until you died and someone else came along. Men like him did not have families. He did come from a family he recalled but was on his own since the age of 10. A fire or pillaging band of bandits had taken his family as far as he could remember which was not much about that time. A modern clinical diagnosis would be “repressed memory” and be concerned. He just never thought about it and lived to fish instead.

What was happening on shore became annoying as well as alarming. The trucks were disgorging hundreds of soldiers near the Monastery. I suppose it was a natural draw for someone not from the area. That was the annoying part. The alarming part was that other trucks were headed for his hut. Most of what he owned was in the boat with him including all he needed to survive but he remembered he left his good knife, extra fishing line, his winter store of fish and the painting in there. It would set him back a full moons worth of extra fish to replace them by trading with the men in the powerboat and who knew when he would be able to catch enough to replace his winter stores.

The book was where he found it wrapped in cloth and wedged very safely between two boulders. No one would find it and if they did it was not very appealing. That’s partially why he just kept it hidden. He could not read and the few illustrations were of the “Ascending Jesus” and were not very well done in his mind. He had seen a photograph once and was much impressed with that but not with this admittedly old book full of scribbles and squiggly lines and bad hand drawn pictures that didn’t even look as real as the photograph he had seen when the men in the powerboat had shown it to him.

He hated to fish on the ice. He has seen too many fall in when you were too hungry in the spring to take precautions on the thin ice. He had seen too many mistakes made by relatively smart men.

He could only assume that the soldiers were on their way to fight the Turks. There was certainly nothing else to fight here. He did not know who he pitied more, the soldiers who were about to die in a foreign land or himself who would go hungry this winter. Luckily he knew of another hut that he could claim. It’s occupant had died the last moon. He had already staked a claim on it using the tried and true methods of the area but it was on the other side and farther away from his favorite fishing spot. He would have to spend twice the amount of energy getting there and back and during the winter the lake did not always freeze all the way over so he might have to go to his other less fertile fishing spots.

He began to curse the soldiers. Maybe if he killed a couple over the next few nights they would leave. No… they would try and hunt him down. They would not succeed but that would make him use up much needed supplies and who knows they just might get in a lucky shot and wound him. He was not afraid of dying but he was afraid of being shot and waiting to die while in pain.

No he would have to bide his time and wait to see what they did or were going to do here. His hope was that they were just passing through on their way to fight the Turk.

The Monastery at Lake Sevan with a bombing raid passing overhead

The Book

The monastery was empty and had been for a long time. It gave him an odd feeling being there and left as soon as he was sure nothing of value or of potential threat was present. Yet he feel the possibility of a threat but is was only a feeling. It was probably only tied to these ancient walls and as soon as he left it would not bother him again. As he was checking out one of the towers he glimpsed a pile of wood that could be a crude hut about three kilometers away.

Normally he would have Yevgeni take a squad and explore the area but he decided he was going himself. He really didn’t want to stay near these buildings any longer than was necessary. He got back in the command car and headed towards where he spotted the pile of wood. He could not see it until he almost ran it over. It was very well hidden in a small crevasse. He sent in a private while he walked the area. When the private came out and stated that there was nothing of value in the hut he entered and lit his cigarette lighter to guide the way.

In the flickering light he saw possibly the most wretched hovel, he had ever seen. He was from Kursk and had seen many bombed out buildings that looked better than this space. Pieces of fish bones, fish skin drying by a fire pit, fish heads being mangled into some kind of tool and then there was the indoor toilet that was swarming with maggots and those were the things worth remembering.

As he turned to go the light from the lighter caught a glimmer of cloth or fabric. Normally he would not have looked closer given the circumstances and condition of the surroundings. But that is exactly why he did become curious. What was a relatively clean piece of cloth doing in here? On his way to ascertain what was there in that hiding place he kicked over a container of rotting fish bones and almost fell on top of the pooling slime.

Once he righted himself he carefully retrieved the wrapped bundle and quickly exited the hut. When he got outside he did not take the time to closely examine the package less the private see what he had and just put it in the inside pocket of his great coat and motioned the Private to get in and drive.[51]

SAC and the 15th

Oct. 22nd, 1946

It was a beautiful day outside. The sun was shining yet wasn’t too hot. The birds were coming down from Europe and settling in by the thousands on the Nile Delta. There was not a cloud in the sky and most people were enjoying the cool temperatures mitigated by the warm sunlight. A young couple strolled by and things were very pleasant outside of SAC HQ.

Inside it was a completely different atmosphere, palpably different. General Nathan A. Twining was standing toe to toe with General Curtis LeMay and neither was backing down. Twining was named the 15th Air Force commander once again and was overseeing a buildup of bombers that would equal the force he commanded in World War Two.

The 15th always got short shrift to the 8th and always had a chip on its shoulder and now SAC was trying to knock that chip off. Here we have two Generals about to embark on a massive bombing campaign only rivaled by the last months of the last war and they were acting like a couple of feuding chimpanzees. If anyone is unsure of evolution all you had to do to convince them was to have them watch these two generals and their childish pissing match to see the similarity to animals in the wild. From the baring of teeth the exaggerated poses to the guttural sounds sometimes emanating from their guts neither was giving an inch as both believed down to their last breath that they were the only thing standing between the American public and Stalin himself.

For LeMay it was the last gasp of a dying cause. SAC was losing. It was losing 9-10% of its bomber force every raid. The feeling of doom among the bomber crews was palpable. The inevitability of death permeated the squadrons. The combination of ground to air missiles, air to air missiles, proximity fused 90mm flak rounds and 20mm cannon shells from fighter planes was proving too much for even the best. The math was inescapable and the logic of the situation too stark.

The damage on the ground mirrored closely the raids on many of the large fuel productions facilities of the Germans and the losses to the bomber forces mirrored the Schweinfurt raids.

The losses in bombers of the Schweinfurt raids had caused a three month pause in the bombing campaign against the Third Reich and now those same statistics were about to defeat SAC and LeMay. Even if you could replace the Super Fortresses that were shot down the odds were clear to the bomber crews. Most could not survive 25 missions. The odds were that you would be shot down within the first 10 missions. The math was once again inescapable.

At the height of its war time production America was producing less than 60 of the most complicated machine ever conceived. 60 B-29 Superfortresses a month represented the apex of American manufacturing when at full capacity. Eventually that could be achieved again. But not in time to save SAC who was losing over 30 a raid at this point despite gaining access to every Superfortress in the US arsenal. SAC was down to 402 effective bombers.

LeMay needed the bombers of the 15th Air Force. He needed the venerable B17s and B-24s that gutted the soft underbelly of Hitler’s war machine. He needed General Twinning and his bomber crews. The Joint Chiefs had predicted this outcome. They had a plan B for just this contingency and plan B needed to sacrifice SAC in order to succeed. Stalin had to be goaded into overreaching. He needed to be drawn further and further away from his source of supply. He needed to be taunted into doing something stupid and that meant sacrificing SAC and some of the 15th Air Force as well.

LeMay knew that if he failed at plan A that he was expected to carry out Plan B. Plan B made SAC a diversion. It made the whole concept of the manned strategic bomber a diversion. If the time came, he was to be ordered to sell Plan B to Novikov, the VVS, to the STAVKA and to Stalin himself. Instead of the major reason for defeating an enemy he was to become a diversion a ruse or a lure.

It was becoming more apparent that Zhukov was within weeks of invading Turkey. His goal was to expand the borders of the Soviet Empire and to eliminate the bases that the bombers and more importantly their shorter ranged fighter escorts were using to attack the motherland. His mandate was to close off the Mediterranean Sea as an invasion route and to also prevent its shores from being used as possible air bases.

He had the forces to accomplish these goals but did he have enough fuel? The distance needed to be covered was about the same as from Moscow to Berlin. The resistance was expected to be much less than what was encountered in Poland and Germany. In the minds of the STAVKA it was well worth the risk and that was exactly what the leaders of NATO were counting on.

LeMay would have none of this plan. He wanted to integrate and use up the 15th while he continued to do the heavy lifting on the oil production plants. He was gaining a good 3% reduction with every raid, including the repairs the Soviets had been able accomplish between raids. So far 12 raids had been launched in 3 weeks. The fuel production facilities across the southern USSR and Ploesti were down an accumulated, additional 10% from where they were. The trouble with percentages is that it takes a long time to reach zero. What the JCS were looking at was actual capacity and each raid was accomplishing less and less reduction in capacity. It was the law of diminishing returns. It was true that less and less bombers were being lost per raid but less and less damage was being dealt as well.

Despite replacements of 120 bombers LeMay was down to 402 effective machines and crews from his high of 647. The fighters had held their own at a steady 700. By all accounts the VVS should have been down to zero fighters by now, according to the air crew’s reported kills. Yet they still were able to put up a stiff resistance to every raid and to defend their airfields from the attempts of the USAAF’s P-80s to attack them.

The Red Air Force seemed to be able to replace both its pilots and planes unlike the Germans and Japanese. The training program of the VVS was modeled on the one used by the RAF and USAAF and their factories were on full war footing. The missiles required minimal training to setup and launch and were cost effective compared to a B-29 bomber even at a rate of ten destroyed for every one bomber shot down. The X4 air to air missiles also had a hit rate of 10% and were even more cost effective is the firing aircraft escaped the wrath of the Shooting Stars. In this battle the Soviets were free to concentrate on primarily fighters and by using a combination of the very inexpensive Stalin’s Dart (He 162) as primary interceptors and the older La 7, Yak 3 and 9s to bring down the cripples the VVS was shooting down 30 bombers per raid at an estimated cost of 100 missiles and 30 of their own planes, planes that cost 10% of one B- 29.

The older B-17s and B-24s would probably fare the same as the B-29 in the short run. They would be escorted by the P-51 in huge numbers but would be more vulnerable to the late war Soviet fighters and should fare the same as the Superfortresses against the missile onslaught. A similar 10% loss per raid would also cripple the 15th Air Force in a 3 month window as well but by then it was hoped that the ruse had worked and the bait had been taken.

Only LeMay and Twinning knew of the possible ultimate fate of their respective forces. Only they knew that their brave men were possibly being used as a decoy to draw old Joe out of his homeland and into the far more vulnerable areas he would have to traverse in order to reach the airbases in both Turkey and Egypt. This of course was also a major contribution to each man’s posturing on this fine morning.

The results were inevitable for LeMay. He would eventually have to acquiesce to the orders of the Joint Chiefs and in particular General Doolittle who had formulated this planned movement of the reconstituted 15th in the first place. The 8th would still run its operations in France and Spain and eventually from Britain once again. The re-commissioned B-17s and 24s would be divided up and parceled out to each. The hidden agenda was what was bothering all. Most but LeMay knew that the era of the manned bomber dropping conventional bombs on the enemy’s cities was over once the guided missile became a reality. Yes you could sneak in a fast bomber, or bombers using a variety of methods, but large formations of heavy bombers fighting their way towards helpless cities and towns were quickly being regulated to the history books.

Chapter Twenty Two:

The Coming Storm

1946 Istanbul

* * *

Quickness is the essence of war

* * *

So Close

“Bridge this is the lookout on the top port station. Periscope sighted 278 degrees. I believe it’s a midget sir.”

Clancy, the Number One stares at the speaker for a second then notifies the Captain. “Periscope sighted sir at 278 degrees.”

“Hard a port Number One, come to course 270. We don’t want to miss anything. “Prepare the hedgehogs.”

“Hedgehogs ready Sir”

“Fire when in range remember they are not very fast and can’t dive deep so don’t over shoot please.”

“Yes Sir”

The British Naval Corvette the HMS Portchester Castle came about hard, fighting the laws of physics all the way. The veteran of two U-boat kills she was a rarity in the Royal Navy of 1946. She was still in active service when the war started, having being kept active during the intervening months that most Royal Navy ships were put in storage or sold to central and south American countries to raise cash. If any ship was made to deal with the challenge facing the Islands of Crete and Sicily it was her and her kind. They were made for the Mediterranean it turns out and thrived there. Just big enough to give some creature comfort to the crew yet not too large for the kinds of tasks they were to encounter among the islands of Greece and Crete.

The Soviets investment in the mini submarine had started to pan out in this area. The Seehunds had found their killing grounds and were having quite a time. The Little Ones were threatening to cut off both Sicily and Crete from being used as bases for both naval and air operations. Some of the Seehund captains were becoming aces sinking ships on almost every sortie. This was not only happening in these areas but SAC and the newly moved 15th Air Force were being forced to get their supplies via the Suez canal, a trip more than twice as far as using a route from the US through the Mediterranean to their bases. It was still not much of a problem but it did bring supplies down to dangerously low levels at just the time that LeMay needed them the most and delayed their arrival by a month.

It was a month that cost LeMay a number of opportunities to extract better results in his bombing campaign. A month that grounded 10% of his forces due to lack of supplies. A month that he did not get to bomb the enemy.

Being on a Seehund crew suddenly became a thing to strive for. Short duration voyages with large rewards for success, being glamorized by the Soviet press. The Captains and crewmates were becoming the newest heroes of the Soviet Union. A giant leap up from their status as virtual prisoners just months ago. Now they were having an impact like never before and they were much happier plying the Ionian and Aegean seas compared to the English Channel. Better weather and much better food. But the best part was they had targets. They had prey. They had opportunities to make their families and commanders proud.

No longer were malcontents and criminals forced to man the Seehunds. Now commissar’s sons and party official offspring were clamoring to get into the Little Ones. The successful crews were being lionized by the party elite and in Pravda. Stalin himself was pinning medals on their chests and more important their families now got enough to eat ahead of the others who were starving.

What was once seen as a punishment now was seen as a reward.

If you came back with only tales and periscope pictures of single kills the trip was seen as a failure in some quarters. A double kill was becoming common place. Vasili Arkhipov had become a national hero for sinking 6 freighters off of Sicily in only 8 voyages. Sicily had a full American Division on its surface and those 6 freighters and their supplies were sorely needed. In addition he had hit an American cruiser as well and all was caught on film after he had sunk his 4th freighter in three voyages.

A public that was ready for a hero welcomed Arkhipov back to Moscow with open arms and he was given command of a larger ship in the Black Sea. The Soviets needed heroes after the terrible news of the four atomic bombs and what they had done to nearby cities where they had devastated the oil industry. Yes heroes were needed not so much for moral purposes but to take their minds off of the famine that was starting to drain their energy. The supplies looted from the West had done wonders for the last three months but the reality of not seeing home grown food at your neighborhood market was unnerving to many. Concern actually grows when your markets are full of hard to get luxury items and not the food you are used to. It means that your country can’t feed itself; it means death to those who the government wants to kill.

The government propaganda campaign had made the crews of the Little Ones the heroes of the hour. Many a boy, man and even women wanted to climb into these small killers and have a go at the Amerikosi ships. They wanted the enemy soldiers on Crete and Sicily to taste the pangs of hunger they were experiencing. They wanted the chance to strike directly at the enemy for what they had done to Baku, Tbilisi, Rostov and Ploesti. The Soviet government had done a very good job of convincing the people of the USSR that the capitalists would stop at nothing in their effort to destroy their homeland and them.

The proof was there for all to see in the picture of Jill Nelson. Her almost picture perfect body being covered by fallout and then being rolled over to display the hideous wounds she had suffered due to the nuclear explosion in Baku. The picture had even made Look magazine, despite the American government’s strong objections. America’s love affair with the Atomic Bomb was fast fading as more and more pictures of white people being horribly killed made the news cycle, people who looked just like them, people who could be their brothers, sisters, moms and dads.

Any opportunity that the general public had to strike back the warmongering capitalist pigs was coveted by all. There were now over 70 mini subs in the area surrounding Crete and Sicily. So many that two had actually rammed into each other and one was sunk with the other having to surface and then scuttled by its crew who were rescued by an American destroyer.

They were having an effect way beyond their actual prowess. Shipping companies and merchant marines wary of this newest menace and wear of war turned and ran at any report or false sighting. The US and Royal Navy was at wits end trying everything in its arsenal to stem the panic among the merchant marine. These brave men died by the tens of thousands to keep Britain from being strangled by the Kriegsmarine and to supply the armies that landed on D- Day.

This mission was different. They were supplying long range bombers who had just dropped the most destructive weapon mankind had ever devised on what many saw as innocent men, women and children. Enough didn’t think this was a mission worth their lives after surviving multiple sinkings and seeing their fellow sailors boiled to death or watch them drown behind watertight bulkhead doors. This was not the moral crusade that they felt the last war when the enemy was a heartless monster.

Many did not know the evils of Stalinism. During the last war these people were our allies. Old Joe was a benevolent figure who was our staunchest friend in the war to defeat the world’s greatest evil. Most did not know that Stalin was just as evil as Hitler. Many did not know the atrocities the Red Army had committed in Germany. Some did and chalked it up to well-deserved revenge. Many a fist fight had erupted on many a ship over the true reason the Soviets attacked and the US deciding within weeks to try and blow Leningrad off the map killing the very same people who never gave up and held the Nazi monsters at bay for years until rescued by Uncle Joe, starving in their determination to never give up. These people had been lionized and held up as true heroes of World War Two and here the same US Air Force that tried to vaporize them now wanted the sailors to give their lives so they could do the same to the people of Stalingrad, Moscow, Kursk and even Warsaw.

The American press and government had not made the case as yet, that Stalin was as monstrous as Hitler. The outright communists and deluded left leaning, continued to defend the idea of communism not knowing that Stalinism had taken its place. They continued to whisper in the ears of their neighbors about the evils of capitalism and many of the evils were there for all to see, while the obvious evils of Stalinism were hidden from the American and British public by the massive propaganda machine of the Soviet Empire.

At the end of September the United States Strategic Bombing Survey had been released and propaganda masters of the Soviet Union and the various communist parties and sympathizers made a point of continuously pointing out the negative aspects of a strategic bombing campaign and its large failures. This campaign focused in the needless deaths of hundreds of thousands of children and women to no effect other than to make their men fight and die harder to revenge their deaths and of particular focus was the role of one General Curtis LeMay.

The fact that LeMay had just dropped 4 atomic bombs on or near four large cities filled with innocents, did not go unnoticed or unpublicized, by the communist controlled press in occupied France, Greece, Italy and even in Turkey and Spain not to mention the heavily worker controlled docks in the US and GB.

To say the least the merchant marine was being played like a violin by Dmitri Shepilov, the head of Propaganda and Agitation Department of the Communist Party Central Committee. He had almost as much power over the Soviet people as Stalin himself through his control of the printed and spoken word, which meant his life was in danger. His products permeated the docks and union halls in all of the major ports of the world.

By the end of the World War Two the truth about the true losses the Merchant Marine suffered, came to light. It was aided by information leaked by communist sympathizers nad even the New York Time did a multiple day series of articles on the hidden secrets and startling statistics of the staggering losses that had occurred without recognition.

The fact was that the merchant marines in World WW II suffering a greater percentage of war-related deaths than all other U.S. services. These casualties were kept secret during the War to keep information about their success from the enemy and to attract and keep mariners at sea.

Newspapers carried essentially the same story each week: “Two medium-sized Allied ships sunk in the Atlantic.” In reality, the average for 1942 was 33 Allied ships sunk each week.

This had long been known amongst the sailors and their families. The fact that it was kept such a deep secret and was still not known by many outside of the union halls and dockyards was a great source of resentment.

All of these factors combined to magnify the nuisance of the Seehund into the scourge of the Mediterranean in the eyes of the merchant marine services. The fact that the Little Ones were very good at eluding the best that the US and Royal Navies could bring to bear did nothing to increase the urgency the sailors felt for the strategic bombers and flyboys on Crete, Rhodes, and in Turkey. It even extended to the forces on Sicily. Just as the US government played down by 15 to one the losses to the Merchant Marine in 1942, the rumor mill made the Seehund ten times more destructive than it was in reality and ten times more likely to turn a freighter around before it delivered its cargo on just the sight of a strange current or flash of sunlight hitting at the wrong angle.

The HMS Portchester Castle completed its turn and was churning towards the lookouts coordinates. Just after the Captain ordered the firing of the hedgehogs and before the explosions started, the source of all the excitement was spotted floating just below the surface with an occasional wave breaking on top of it. It was a half-filled drop tank tank off one of the jet fighters that the sailors saw often as bits of shining metal, in a clear blue sky, followed by long thin wisps of vapor and often chasing the big bombers.

“Order General Quarter’s number one. Give an extra to Jenkins for having a sharp eye as well. Even though it was not a sub it was a good call.”

“Yes Sar.

Sometimes it’s Good to be Small

The Captain of the Seehund 293 couldn’t believe his luck he was sure the corvette spotted him and was headed right for him. The dive controls had stuck as usual and he was sure that they were going to catch him too shallow. He even heard the small conning tower hit something large and metallic as they crashed dived and then after just one attack the corvette had turned and moved off. How can you be spotted, have trouble with your dive gear, hit a large object with a corvette coming straight at you and live to tell the tale?

Such is the art of war, he thought. The people of his village had always told him he was lucky and maybe they were correct. Only time would tell.

Home Again

General Ivan Bagramian was home. He sat down to his first trout dinner in a decade. Nothing… nothing beats a freshly caught trout from a mountain lake fried in butter… nothing. Trout can only live in the cleanest and coldest water available. They are like the canaries in the coal mines. If the trout can no longer survive then the water is dying. These waters were filled with trout, wonderful trout, mouthwatering trout.

The first mouthful did not want to leave his mouth. His mouth was so enamored by the taste and texture that it resisted swallowing and wanted to continue sucking the wonderful juices out of the fish.

“You have outdone yourself Alexi. This fish is magnificent. It brings back so many memories of my grandfather and fishing the waters The Seas of Armenia. This fish puts the Rainbow Trout of Kamchatka that Khrushchev brags about, to shame. Just wonderful Alexi… just wonderful.”

“Thank you comrade.”

The trout had come from Lake Sevan and probably was destined to have been eaten by the Fisherman but the soldiers had gotten there first. Unlike many of their other compatriots these group of soldiers had been ordered to catch the trout using fishing line and fly. Many of the other troops were dining on fish that had been blown out of the water using grenades. The general’s chef knew his commander would have none of that kind of fish and a full third of the lake had been designated off limits to the more destructive methods being used.

Ivan Bagramian was from a village named Chardakhlu and it was less than 100 km from Sevan Lake. Until his teenage years he roamed these very hills and lakes. He was bombarded from an early age by tales of the Turks invading and masacuring his people, the Armenians. Story after story of the Turk’s atrocities were common bed and fireside fare.

His village is now known as a home of many heroes of the Great Patriotic War. Of the able bodied Armenians of the village, 1250 went to the front. Half of them were awarded with orders and medals, two gained the title of Marshal of the Soviet Union (himself and Hamazasp Babadzhanian), 12 became generals, and seven Hero of the Soviet Union. an amazing legacy for such a small, isolated area.

Bagramian carried the tales of Turkish and Ottoman atrocities with him as he fought with various military units during the First World War, facing the blood curdling cry of the southern invader too many times to count. He fought the Turk hand to hand when he was young now he would command the Front that would stab at the heart of the former Ottoman empire and then on to the Levant and Persia. It was expected that the Turkish army would concentrate and provide the most resistance on its western border, while his forces cut through sparse opposition and swiftly moved onto the prize of the oil in fields in Iraq and the all-important Suez Canal. Zukov would be in control of the entire offensive with Konev having the honor of assaulting Constantinople and the more Westernized part of Turkey while he did the real damage coming in from the back door.

Konev was to be given airborne troops and the marines. He was to take the Bosporus from land, air and sea. He was given all the toys while Bagramian was given all the power and maneuver units. He was to hit fast and hard and to keep on moving. He was to have the bulk of the remaining offensive fuel supplies that were to be used for the invasion of Korea and the consolidation of Manchuria. He would have plenty of fuel and supplies to make it to the Suez and Kuwait and then defend both of up to 3 months. The Stavka’s plan became very undefined at that point with a lot of contingencies and and if that’s.

His duty was to follow orders and hope for the best and he was one of the best at this as well as proposing alternatives. He had a habit of planning and then convincing his superiors and even Stalin to modify the grandiose plans he was to carry out. His brilliant variation of the original plan for Operation Bagration had won the battle for central Belarus. His detour through the dreaded Pripet Marsh area had caught the Germans completely by surprise and paved the way for the huge advances that were to follow. His many variations to the grandiose plans of the Stavka were legendary even in the West. If anyone could improvise it was Bagramian. His many improvisations had saved tens of thousands of Soviet lives and cost the tens of thousands of Germans theirs.

The second mouthful of trout was just as good as the first and Marshal Bagramian relished the thought of finally bringing the overwhelming power of the Red Army crashing down on Armenia’s most deadly and implacable enemy, an enemy who tried to exterminate the Armenian people. A crime so heinous that the term genocide was coined to describe the systematic death by forced deportation and starvation of 1.5 Armenians in 1915.

Yet Bagramian was not bent on revenge. He was focused on the mission and its twin objectives the closure of the Suez canal by any means and the occupation of the oil fields of Iraq and Kuwait. A secondary consequence of his maneuvers would be the capture and destruction of the strategic bomber bases being used by the Amerikosi to attack the homeland. This too would be an inevitable result of his twin thrusts.

He was not a vindictive barbarian and would attempt to keep his forces from harming the buildings that three major religions of the world revered. Their continued existence under communist rule would just strengthen the idea of the inevitability of a workers paradise that transcend the superstitions that religions have used to rule the sheep of the world. A benevolent re-education would be an interesting experiment and if that failed then other means could be used.

Many of the units under his command were not Armenian by design. This operation would require the utmost of professionalism and could not be threatened by emotional displays of revenge no matter how justified. The destruction of Ottoman Empire once and for all would be revenge enough for his generation.

He had 2 months to prepare for a winter offensive in a mild climate. He was grateful it wasn’t Korea on the winter. He had heard stories about that area. He was from a cold place and was used to winter. From all indications this would be a very bad one in the north but not so in the south. Cold would not stop him only mud and this area of the world did not receive much rain at any time, much less the winter. It was usually cold and dry, perfect weather to invade a country with minimal losses. It will certainly beat winter in the Pyrenees Mountains.

Lake Sevan trout

The Fifteen Rises Again

In May 1946 the 15th Air Force had basically ceased to exist. It’s once proud fleet of B-17 and B-24 bombers were being scrapped at a record pace. Dumped unceremoniously into ravines, oceans and even mines, these products of Detroit and Ford’s Forest Run Factory had both caused the death of many and at the same time saved others with their powerful engines, well thought out designs and 50 caliber machine guns. The bombs they dropped had brought Fascism to its knees where it was finished off by the armies put on shore or attacking from the East.

The newest among them that were still flying were being brought to their new bases in Turkey. The B-24M was the latest and greatest of this workhorse bomber. Over a thousand had been flown from the factory straight to scrap heaps in 1945. The other 1,500 were only available by clerical error. All should have been scrapped by May, 1946 but the lucky 1500 escaped destruction and were instead parked wing to wing awaiting their fate when the Soviets struck. This lucky 1500 would form the bulk of the 15th or the next 2 months.

Although the B-17 Fighting Fortress took the limelight away from the B-24 Liberator it was the most abundantly produced heavy bomber and American plane of World War II. The Willow Run factory outside of Detroit was producing 650 a month at peak but now was producing 150. It far outstripped the more glamourous in bombs dropped, enemy fighters shot down and missions flown. Much like the P-38 Lightning being overshadowed by the less versatile P-51, the B-24 deserves higher praise than it garners.

The 8th Air Force took over 8 months to become operational but the newly reconstituted 15th would be operating in 6 from bases near Adana Turkey. The Turks had been developing the site since June and it was near a number of ports on the Mediterranean where supplies could be shipped to easily until the bottleneck caused by the Seehunds off the coast of Tobruk appeared. 10 Freighters went down in the first week before the alarm was raised. The supply route had to be changed to the Suez until an answer for the Seehunds could be found. With LeMay screaming for supplies the 15th was put on the back burner for a good 3 weeks. The first 1000 plane raid was scheduled for November 3rd, 1946.

It was anticipated that the losses would be high and in the 15% range but it would free up SAC from its missions and give LeMay time to restock his squadrons. No one expected the 15th to do any better or even any worse than SAC. The 15th welcomed many of the former bomber crews that were rejected by SAC for security reasons. Now that the cat was out of the bag every veteran was fair game and Twinning had many of the best working for him. Men that had been saddled with questionable relatives or had made some bad political decisions in the past were now working for him and were eager to prove their patriotism.

A couple of squadrons were working on special formations and maneuvers designed to evade the Stalin’s Fire missile. The bomber crews had notice with growing envy how easily the fighter pilots avoided both the X-4 air to air missile as well as the Wasserfal surface to air version. They were fairly easy to out maneuver for the fighters who did not have to fly in rigid formation.

The concept was to maneuver in formation on a squad level to spoof the missiles and then to quickly link up with the other squadrons before the Red fighter pilots attacked. LeMay had virtually forbid SAC from such experiments but Twinning encouraged them if only to keep the moral of the bomber crews high enough to function. SAC was on the verge of becoming non- operational and all knew it but LeMay.

LeMay was a brilliant strategic thinker with amazing insights on the tactical level as well. An example was his stripping of the B-29 of all defensive guns and armor once it became apparent that the Japanese could not defend themselves with fighter planes and the jet stream caused the B-29 to drop incendiaries at low altitudes. The increase in ordnance was a determining factor in creating the firestorms that killed hundreds of thousands.

In hindsight it did little to win the war but it was a novel solution to a problem that won LeMay the praise he deserved. LeMay was not one to learn from his mistakes however and he relied on “his gut” for far too many decisions of late. This had led to the losses that could not be sustained, yet did have the effect the NATO planners wanted. The Soviet Army was going to invade Turkey and that was the real reason for the sacrifices being made by SAC and soon the 15th. Twinning and LeMay were not told this in so many words and if they were successful in their missions then possibly the next phase of the war would be unnecessary but few who knew the true odds were optimistic.

The greatest killer of bombers was still the conventional single seat fighter plane second only to the 90 mm proximity fuse anti-aircraft gun. The Yaks, Lags and MiGs shot down the bulk of the B-29s once their formations were broken apart by the missile volleys and marauding jets. The Soviet jets were kept pretty busy by the P-80 Shooting Stars of the USAAF so it was up to the swarms of Yak 3, 9, La 7 to bore in. Both the Soviets and NATO leaders knew the current missile systems were a temporary advantage for the defense. You would need more than a 10% hit rate to have a lasting effect on a strategic level so the race was on for the next technological leap forward for either the defense or the offence in the war over the skies of Eurasia.

Not His Type

“Remember Fenwick, this report goes to the White House and the Joint Chiefs of Staff and I don’t want any typographical errors, UNDERSTAND!”

“Of course Sargent, when have I ever let you down, Sir.”

“Stop calling me Sir FENWICK or I’ll bust you so fast it will make your head swim. Stop talking and even listening and get back to typing… NOW!”

“YES…”

“FENWICK!”

“sir” under his breath.

All righty then, what magnum opus have we got here from the spooks. Scary guys, luckily I’m just a clerk typist and will stay under their radar unless I screw up too badly and then all they’ll do is take away my typewriter and put a gun in my hand.

Let’s see, all caps, double space for starters, three carbons and we’re off… let’s see if I can read his notes. Who would have thought that he could take short hand?”

I. Pyrenees: The line is steady state. The 70% reduction of the fuel supplies caused by the attack of SAC has caused the Red Army to dig in. They are conserving fuel and massive transfers of tanks and trucks have been observed. See attached.

1. The air war over the Pyrenees Line continues to be a stalemate. The VVS has ceased its air assault over the British Isles and has transferred a number of squadrons to this front thus keeping pressure on our forces.

2. Neither side seems to be able to make any real advances although the Soviet forces are within 15 miles from breaking out of the mountainous terrain that has kept them in check up till now. It is estimated that a full breakout would have occurred within 2 weeks if the offensive had not stopped due to lack of fuel.

3. The line is currently being held by a combination of NATO Divisions with most countries represented.

4. British forces — 18 divisions

5. Spanish forces — 15 divisions

6. French forces — 2 divisions

7. US forces — 2 divisions

8. German expatriate forces — 1 division

9. Combined Italian, Greek and a combination of Balkan expatriate forces — 1 division

10. Currently only the US, GB, French and German forces are able to mount

11. Any kind of offensive action but no plans have been offered to start a general advance against the dug in forces of the Soviet Union.

II. British Empire

1. The VVS has stopped offensive action over the British Isles

2. The Red Air Force continues to defend vigorously the airspace over Germany and France

3. This front appears to have been put on reserve status as well by the Stavka.

4. The RAF is slowly gaining strength and the ability to once again defend itself with the influx of USAAF late war model fighters and 6 squadrons of P80 Shooting Stars. It has been decided to use USAAF equipment in the short term rather than concentrate on re-tooling their industrial base to once again produce war material and supplies.

5. India is in full, yet peaceful revolt.

6. Transjordan gains independence in exchange for military bases

7. Java is in violent revolt.

8. Hong Kong remains stable.

9. Palestine is in revolt.

10. Nigeria, Gambia and the Gold Coast have re-written their constitutions and are heading towards independence.

11. Food is being rationed but plentiful.

a. More of a financial measure than shortages.

12. A bill to loan them 1.5 billion dollars is being held up in the Senate

III. Scandinavia

1. Norway, Sweden and Finland are being controlled from the cities by puppet governments propped up by Soviet troops. The smaller cities and villages are virtually free of communist influence. An uneasy truce is in place after a large number of assassinations and retaliations. A number of hangings and atrocities by both sides have brought an uneasy truce as the long winter starts.

2. Denmark is under very tight Soviet control. The area controlling access to the Baltic is being heavily fortified on both the Swedish and Denmark coasts.

3. Reports indicate that the Baltic itself is rather uncontrolled with relative freedom of movement being allowed between all ports.

IV. Germany

1. Very little is known of conditions in Germany. A puppet government has been created and appears to be in total control with behind the scenes support of the Red Army and NKGD.

V. France

1. The French Communist Party is in full control and is comprise of former resistance fighters. The majorities of the Soviet forces are in well defended bases and rarely venture out in the countryside.

2. At the moment there is no organized resistance to the puppet French communist government.

VI. The Low Countries

1. All countries are tightly controlled by the NKGD and Soviet forces along the coastlines.

2. A number of attacks by resistance groups have been violently crushed and retaliations have been rampant.

3. Soviet troops and security forces are numerous throughout the area and patrol with regularity.

4. Our Intelligence Agents sent into the area have been unsuccessful to say the least with 75% going silent within weeks. Highly place moles are suspected in the collective NATO structures.

VII. Turkey

1. Turkey has unofficially joined NATO and has allowed 12 large air bases to be developed.

2. Their armed forces are in fair condition and are in the process of expanding and strengthening their defensive positions along the Dardanelles and Bosporus on their western front.

3. Of major concern is the lack of depth of these defenses. In addition the Turkish government started major construction on these defensive works in critical areas as late as September 13th.

4. The far northeast border is very porous and defended lightly. 10 divisions from their border with Syria being transferred less than a week ago to this front. Total forces reported on the border are 17 divisions.

5. Supplies to Turkey have been hampered by a large increase in submarine activity in the area of Tobruk and Sicily. A delay of 30 days has been experienced due to the rerouting of a large number of convoys to the Suez Canal. Much of the supplies were destined for Turkey but were diverted to SAC instead.

6. The airbases in the Adana area are ready to receive the units of the 15th Air Force. The advanced teams are in position and hard at work finalizing the facilities.

7. General LeRoche conducted a 1 month tour of Turkish territory and estimated that if attacked in force, the eastern border would hold for 20 days while the Northeast border with the USSR would be breached in 3 days. He strongly recommended that this border be strengthened immediately with NATO troops if necessary. The Turkish government is expected to respond to his report next week and will hopefully acquiesce to additional NATO troops being deployed in their territory.

VIII. Japan

1. Defense forces continue to be trained

2. 75% of the forces on mainland China, Korea, Burma, Malaya, Bruni, Dutch East Indies, British East Indies, North Borneo and Guam have been transported back to Japan proper and integrated into the defense forces.

IX. Manchuria

1. Soviet occupied

X. China

1. Full-fledged civil war with fluid and chaotic conditions.

2. Numerous Japanese units caught in the fighting after fleeing the Soviet forces in Manchuria.

XI. USSR

1. Estimated at full war footing

2. 70% of oil production non-functional

3. Estimated 5% increase per month despite current bombing campaign

4. 185 divisions currently in the field

a. 50 in Western Europe

b. 30 on the Pyrenees Line

c. 2 in Italy

d. 2 in Greece

e. 10 spread out internally in Eastern Europe

f. 10 on the eastern border of Turkey with 30 more enroute

g. 35 on the Northeastern border of Turkey

h. 15 in Scandinavia

i. 10 internal Russia and Ukraine

j. 21 in Manchuria

5. VVS units

a. See Attached

XII. Yugoslavia

1. 7 division in Greece

2. 8 divisions in Italy

3. 4 internal

XIII. Eastern European nations

1. 35 divisions internally

XIV. United States

1. See attachment

Damn it I’ll be typing all day. Where the hell is the attach shit… Oh crap you’re kidding. Holy shit this is ridiculous. There must be 30 pages of double column figures. Oh man…

* * *

Actually the typist underestimated the number of pages. It was more than 120 pages all together and he was soon joined by others.

* * *

We leave you at this point with Stalin poised to invade Turkey the Levant and Iraq with two objectives in mind. First and foremost to prevent NATO from attacking his oil production facilities ever again and to enjoy the immunity the United States has from this calamity of modern war. Second is to deny NATO the oil in Iraq and to close the Suez Canal to all shipping and eventually make the Mediterranean a Soviet lake by wrestling Gibraltar from the British.

END OF BOOK TWO

Coming soon

World War Three 1946

Book Three

The Red Sea

The Allies Strike Back

Copyright

Copyright © 2014 Harry Kellogg III

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13:

978-1505273113

ISBN-10:

1505273110

Notes

1

Tin and Global Capitalism, 1850-2000: A History of “the Devil’s Metal” edited by Mats Ingulstad, Andrew Perchard, Espen Storli

2

Hollowed Ground: Copper Mining and Community Building on Lake Superior By Larry D. Lankton

3

Death’s Door: The Truth Behind Michigan’s Largest Mass Murder by Steve Lehto

4

The Story of the Aluminum Specialty Company Manitowoc, Wisconsin: Its Manufacturing Facilities

5

Unfulfilled Promise: The Soviet Airborne Forces, 1928-1945By Leroy Thompson — Pg. 33

6

Over Fields of Fire By Timofeeva-Egorova Pg. 105

7

War Is a Racket: The Antiwar Classic by America’s Most Decorated Soldier By Smedley Darlington Butler

8

The Royal Air Force — Volume 2: An Encyclopedia of the Inter-War Years 1930-1939 By Ian Philpott

9

The Torso Murder: The Untold Story of Evelyn Dick by Brian

10

The Ultimate Weapon: The Race to Develop the Atomic Bomb by Edward T. Sullivan

11

Air University Quarterly Review, Volume 9 U.S. Army Air Forces, 1956 — Aeronautics

12

The encyclopedia of the world’s combat aircraft by Bill Gunston

13

Strike From the Sky: The History of Battlefield Air Attack, 1910-1945 By Richard P. Hallion pg. 244

14

Shukhov Cracking Process edited by Lambert M. Surhone, Miriam T. Timpledon, Susan F. Marseken

15

The Life of a Chemist: Memoirs of Vladimir N. Ipatieff By Vladimir Nikolaevich Ipatieff

16

Chemical Abstracts, Volumes 96-105 American Chemical Society. Chemical Abstracts Service

17

Hutterer, R. (2005). Wilson, D. E.; Reeder, D. M, eds. Mammal Species of the World (3rd ed). p. 303

18

Out of the Cold: The Cold War and Its Legacy edited by Michael R. Fitzgerald, Allen Packwood

19

The Dead and Those about to Die: D-Day: the Big Red One at Omaha Beach by John C. McManus

20

How Products are Made: An Illustrated Guide to Product Manufacturing, Volume 6 Jacqueline L. Longe pg. 256

21

The Home Guard: A Military and Political History S. P. Mackenzie

22

Early Cold War Spies: The Espionage Trials that Shaped American Politics By John Earl Haynes, Harvey Klehr

23

Houses of the Welsh Countryside: A Study in Historical Geography By Peter Smith

24

Extreme Hauntings: Britain’s Most Terrifying Ghosts By Paul Adams, Eddie Brazil

25

Clash of Wings: World War II in the Air By Walter J. Boyne

26

Beria: Stalin’s First Lieutenant By Amy Knight

27

Venona: Decoding Soviet Espionage in America By John Earl Haynes, Harvey Klehr

28

Engineering Communism: How Two Americans Spied for Stalin and Founded the Soviet Silicon Valley By Steven T. Usdin

29

Dawn of the Electronic Age: Electrical Technologies in the Shaping of the Modern World 1914-1945 By Frederik Nebeker

30

We Shall Suffer There: Hong Kong’s Defenders Imprisoned, 1942-45

31

Russian Reactions to German Airpower in World War II. By Klaus Uebe

32

Red Air: Politics in Russian Air Power By Sanu Kainikara pg. 144

33

Dawn of the Electronic Age: Electrical Technologies in the Shaping of the Modern World 1914-1945 By Frederik Nebeker

34

German Guided Missiles: Henschel Hs 293 and Ruhrstahl SD 1400X, by William Wolf

35

The Soviet Economy and the Red Army, 1930-1945 By Walter Scott Dunn

36

The V2 and the German, Russian and American Rocket Program By C. Reuter

37

He 162 Salamander: Design — Production — Operations by Chris

38

Washing Machine Charlie by Lambert M Surhone, Mariam T Tennoe, Susan F Henssonow

39

Night witches: the untold story of Soviet women in combat by Bruce Myles

40

The Soul of Battle: From Ancient Times to the Present Day by Victor Davis Hanson.

41

Napalm: An American Biography by Robert M Neer, Author

42

GEMA: Birthplace of German Radar and Sonar By Harry von Kroge

43

Aces High: The Heroic Saga of the Two Top-Scoring American Aces of World War II By Bill Yenne

44

Masters of the Air: America’s Bomber Boys Who Fought the Air War Against Nazi Germany By Donald L. Miller Pg. 313-329

45

B-29 Superfortress John Pimlott Chartwell Books, 1980 pg. 40

46

Death in the City of Light: The Serial Killer of Nazi-occupied Paris By David King

47

The Luftwaffe: A History By John Killen

48

The Red Falcons: the Soviet Air Force in action, 1919-1969 by Robert Jackson

49

The White Rose of Stalingrad: The Real-Life Adventure of Lidiya Vladimirovna the highest scoring female fighter pilot of all time. Pg. 231 By Bill Yenne

50

Kievan Russia By George Vernadsky

51

Leonardo Da Vinci was well familiar with Armenian art and architecture, but must have certainly gotten his idea of “The Last Supper” (painted in 1495-1498) from an illuminated Armenian Bible manuscript (dated 1038, of Vanian school). This Armenian manuscript is the first and probably the only painting that shows among the disciples a woman, Mary Magdalene, lovingly leaning her head on the shoulder of Jesus!

Da Vinci may certainly have been influenced by this idea of Jesus at the table scene showing a feminine looking disciple sitting on his left.

Content

Harry Kellogg III
THE RED SKY
THE SECOND BATTLE OF BRITAIN
Book Two of
The World War Three 1946 Series
First Edition

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note

Forward

Timeline for World War Three 1946 Book One — The Red Tide — Stalin Strikes First

Prologue

Chapter One: Prelude to an Attack

Chapter Two: Tale of an IL-10 Beast Pilot

Chapter Three: Found, One Atomic Bomb!

Chapter Four: One Man’s Tale

Chapter Five: September to Remember

Chapter Six: The North Falls

Chapter Seven: Bone Yards

Chapter Eight: Opening Moves

Chapter Nine: The Plan

Chapter Ten: Tales of Men

Chapter Eleven: Personal Stories

Chapter Twelve: Fore Play

Chapter Thirteen: People of Note

Chapter Fourteen: It Begins

Chapter Fifteen: The Second Battle of Britain

Chapter Sixteen: The Battle Rages On

Chapter Seventeen: Last Gasp

Chapter Eighteen: SAC Awakes

Chapter Eighteen: The Current Situation

Chapter Nineteen: The Big Bang

Chapter Twenty: Unconventional Warfare

Chapter Twenty One: Change of Strategy

Chapter Twenty Two: The Coming Storm

Coming soon

Copyright

Notes