Sacrifice (The Red Gambit Series. Book 5)

by Colin Gee

  0600 hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, Factory Rinat, Chaiky, Kiev, Ukraine.

  On the 26th March 1946, the British Broadcasting Corporation began its new BBC Russian Service, broadcasting short wave radio programming toward the Soviet Union.

  The initial item was a news programme, describing the war as the Allies saw it, and impressing upon the Soviet people the inevitable conclusion.

  The concept had initially been part-propaganda tool, part genuine wish to share unembellished news.

  The announcements that followed the news also served a third purpose, as an item regarding a new Government policy towards the Nationalist movement in the Ukraine reached waiting ears.

  Those ears that only needed to hear the six key words to initiate a revolt within the USSR, bringing the Ukrainian people into more direct opposition with those that they saw as occupiers and oppressors.

  The radio in a small factory office in Chaiky, Kiev, struggled to stay on frequency as the announcer went through his script.

  “Therefore, in the matter of a sovereign Ukraine…”

  “...His Majesty’s Government is increasingly adamant…”

  “…That the matter should be incorporated in any agreements on the political restructuring of the post-war Soviet State.”

  Shouts of joy and encouragement rang out, the coded message for action quite clearly received, and the armed group moved off to visit itself upon the nearby Soviet airbase.

  In scores of places across the vast Ukraine, men and women slipped out into the early morning cold to hit pre-selected targets, intent on damaging as much of the Soviet war machine as possible, before slipping away to recover and repeat the process the following night.

  And, for that matter, repeat it every night necessary until the Soviet Union no longer held sway over their country.

  The Ukrainian Uprising had begun.

  0602 hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, Beach Zulu, Kolberg, Pomerania.

  High and low tides were not a problem for the approaching seaborne forces, as the Baltic had no significant tidal range.

  The major issue had always been ice, and for weeks, reconnaissance aircraft had been studying the sea ice, and other aircraft had visited particular areas with bombs or napalm, just to assist the thawing process.

  Allied planning made sure that the alternate areas in the Baltic States and Norway also received attention.

  Last observations had confirmed that ice would not inhibit the landing forces. However, its continued presence in the North, and in the Gulf of Bothnia, would not help any Soviet response, not that the Red Navy had much capacity to interdict the large Allied Naval forces committed to the enterprise.

  As per the Allied request, the friendly Polish forces had set out coloured markers in lines of three, designed to steer incoming landing craft into the correct beach areas.

  Lessons learned off the coast of Normandy could be applied, but landing on friendly territory, with the cooperation of forces in situ, made the whole operation much smoother.

  The chugging of the approaching landing craft made many a Polish soldier tighten his grip on his weapon, until the familiar tones of Polish voices raised in excitement relaxed them.

  Soldiers of the 8th Brigade, 4th Free Polish Infantry Division, supported by tanks from the 14th Lancers of the 16th Polish Armoured Brigade, led the first wave. Heavily laden soldiers ran down the grounded ramps, through the chilly waters of the Baltic, buoyed by their return to their native land.

  The organised beach deployment rapidly descended into happy chaos, as soldiers in different uniforms, united by a common language and nationality, embraced each other in celebration.

  Officers and NCOs barked orders, trying to separate the two forces and gain some sort of order, but the Poles had been subjugated for far too long for such an historical moment to pass quickly.

  It was 0630 before the first organised units from either group made their way off the beach and inland, leaving room for the next wave to land behind them.

  0833 hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, ten kilometres east of Bärwalde, Poland.

  A number of the assembled orders group showed the signs of their stiff encounter with the NKVD unit that had tried to force its way up Route 11.

  2nd Fallschirmjager’s 7th Regiment had been tasked with blocking any movement by Soviet forces, and had arrived at Route 11 just in time to engage a large force of NKVD troops.

  A hasty attack had cut the road and a blocking force was set in place to hold any further Soviet attempts to advance.

  Two such efforts had been made, and made with great force, the final attempt only being stopped by a swiftly organised counter-attack, led by Major Kurt Schuster, formerly of FallschirmBatallion Perlmann, heroes of the defence of Hamburg.

  The Perlman soldiers had been absorbed into the 7th Regiment, serving as its third battalion.

  Perlmann now commanded the regiment, or what was left of it, as the NKVD assaults had badly savaged his jager platoons. His temporary aid stations were overflowing and already creaking under the pressure of work created by two hours of hideous battle.

  A brief radio conversation took place with the headquarters of the commanding General, Wladyslaw Bortnowski, Lieutenant General of the Polish Liberation Army Group.

  The Group had been created on the shores of the Baltic and consisted of friendly units of the 1st Polish Army, the specially constituted Polish Tenth Army, whose units were still coming ashore, and the 1st Allied Airborne Corps, whose paratrooper and glider elements had landed throughout Northern Poland.

  By the time Perlmann handed back the radio handset he understood that, although help would soon be at hand for the Fallschirmjager, things were not all going the Allies way, and that there was still the potential for abject failure.

  History shows that there are no invincible armies.

  Joseph Stalin

  Chapter 140 - THE BEGINNING

  0844 hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, Europe.

  From the Baltic to the Adriatic, eyes watched, waiting, as innumerable second hands swept round circular dials, bringing Europe inexorably to renewed conflict on a huge scale.

  Five Allied Army Groups were ready to move forward and take the fight the Red Army, ready to start the long road back to the Polish border... and beyond.

  At 0845 precisely, the Spectrum plans required huge artillery forces to commence a short sharp bombardment of enemy defences.

  Along the Allied lines, thousands of gun commanders gave orders that triggered their weapons and launched metal into the cold air. The artillerymen worked hard, oblivious to the damage caused when their contributions arrived on target; they just concentrated on serving their gun.

  Allied reconnaissance had been excellent, or so it seemed, and many Soviet positions had been discovered and slated for destruction.

  The artillery was superbly handled and accurate, and many a Soviet soldier died without truly understanding that the war had suddenly gone ‘hot’ again.

  The Allied plan was simple.

  Hit hard, hit fast, and give the Soviet High Command as much to think about as possible.

  In the south, planning deliberately took any Allied offensive action away from the Yugoslavians, mainly to prevent any unfortunate accident that could pull the large Yugoslav Army into the war on Stalin’s side.

  Whilst not quite a general attack, the expectation was for a number of penetrations in the Red Army lines, all of which would be exploited to the maximum degree.

  Part of the planning was to remove Soviet troops from the borders of Switzerland and, in the doing, relieve the position of US XXXIII Corps.

  Both British 15th Army Group and US 6th Army Group both had parts to play in that, before a wide advance aimed at allowing the 6th to gain Munchen and south-west Czechoslovakia, maintaining contact with the 12th and 15th either side, whilst the 15th moved parallel to the south of them, and into Austria.

  US 12th Army Group had Prague as its primary objective, although the a
ttached French Army had Dresden as its goal.

  The German Republican Army, full of veteran soldiers despite its infancy, had been handed the prize, although all knew it would be a bittersweet experience.

  Berlin would cost many lives.

  British 21st Army Group was tasked to bash its way along the northern coast, relief of the Polish bridgehead as its priority.

  In general terms, Allied planning catered for occupation of all lands up to the west bank of the Oder River, but Eisenhower and his generals, and even the politicians, were realistic enough to know that it was unlikely that Operation Spectrum would take them that far.

  Their greatest advantages lay in logistics and air power, the former incredibly complex machine coiled ready to bring the requirements of war from around the globe to Allied ports in Europe, and then distribute them swiftly and efficiently to the formations at the sharp end of combat.

  The latter machine, the air force, had been hammering the Red Army across Europe for weeks, and the 26th March offered up opportunities for greater destruction, as available targets multiplied with the expected Soviet ground response and the decimated Red Air Force rose to meet the inexorable swarms.

  Time alone would tell how a battle-ready, well-supplied, well-equipped, and well-motivated Allied Army would perform against a savaged but still more numerical Red Army, bolstered by some new technological advances and inspired by an implacable political regime.

  0909 hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, Operation Heracles-I, above Nordhausen, Germany.

  By all definitions, this portion of the Heracles missions was a total milk run.

  Whatever flak there had been had missed by a country mile, surprisingly less effective than Soviet AA had started to become in recent months.

  There had been a brief suggestion of intercepting fighters, but defensive aircraft had moved in and, apart from two bright but short-lived flashes at distance, and a drawling American voice announcing two bogies down, there had been nothing to really suggest their presence.

  The eight Lancasters of the RAF’s 9 Squadron lined up their target perfectly. Elsewhere, the rest of 9 Squadron and other specially trained RAF and RAAF Lancaster squadrons approached their own objectives, one of the ten goals of the Heracles missions, the priority targets being spread over the length and breadth of Europe.

  Behind each leading group came larger groups, carrying conventional HE and incendiary loads.

  There were more behind them too.

  The Master Bomb-Aimer was conscious of the responsibility on his shoulders.

  “Steady... steady...”

  Through the small formation, anticipation was growing, especially with the bomb-aimers, to whom fell the responsibility of ensuring that their single bombs hit right on the money.

  “Steady... steady...”

  Visibility was perfect, not a cloud and excellent early morning light by which to aim with the utmost precision.

  9 and 617 Squadrons were two of the RAF’s finest, although it was the modifications to their Avro Lancasters that gave them their roles within ‘Heracles’.

  The plan was ruthlessly simple.

  Nordhausen had been visited in the German War, with some success, but not as hard and in such a short time as was about to happen.

  “Steady... steady... stea… bomb gone!”

  No-one really needed telling, as the release of the twelve thousand pound Tallboy bomb could not go unnoticed, the lightened Lancaster springing upwards instantly.

  The eight Lancasters were flying in two diamonds, incredibly close, with one diamond tucked in behind and slightly above the other with little room to spare. Within ten seconds, each aircraft had deposited their cargo into the air above Nordhausen; above the headquarters of the Red Banner Forces of Soviet Europe.

  Six Tallboy bombs led the way, three each on a specific point.

  Already in the air behind them came two Grand Slam bombs, twenty-thousand pounds of Torpex D1 explosive, intent on finishing the work started by the six Tallboys.

  The follow-on attack might experience some difficulties with the aftermath of so many large explosions. Planning and practice meant that the big bombs were all aimed and laid before the target was obscured by the debris thrown up by the rapid detonation of one hundred and sixteen thousand pounds of high-explosive doing what it does best in an intended target area of less than six football pitches.

  Between 0904 and 0922, aircraft from 9 Sqdn, 115 Sqdn, 617 Sqdn, and 460 Sqdn RAAF visited ten separate targets, identified as ‘Heracles I to X’, placing over a half of the Allied stock of tallboys and two-thirds of the Grand Slams on their targets; over a million pounds of high-explosive, all dropped with a single purpose.

  To cut the heads off the Hydra.

  Author’s note on the remaining chapters of Sacrifice.

  Most readers with any knowledge of World War Three will know the general outcome of the final operations of Spectrum, and will therefore appreciate how long and complex this section of combat and political history would be to both read and write.

  I have decided to follow certain of the key personnel from both sides, who served within areas specific to Allied Army Groups, as well as on the home fronts, or reflect famous engagements, through to the conclusion of ‘Spectrum’. I hope I can write well enough to give a flavour of how those dreadful days passed for the soldiers, sailors, and airmen of both sides.

  Despite the fact that isolating fronts risks missing some of the times where the effects of a single operation spread further into surrounding formations, I can see no alternative to avoid this history becoming cumbersome.

  I hope you will agree.

  Freedom is never free.

  Author Unknown

  Chapter 141 - THE FIFTEENTH

  0958 hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, the grounds of Schloss Maria Loretto, Klagenfurt, Austria.

  He had no idea how long he had been unconscious for, except that it had been long enough for his headquarters to be destroyed.

  Shaking his head to clear his vision, he listened without hearing to the man on the other end of the phone.

  “Speak up! I can’t fucking hear you!”

  Another bomb exploded and the blast wave hit the small bunker that he used to sleep in, a decision that had undoubtedly preserved the life of the commander of 1st Alpine Front.

  The blast threw more dust into the air, forcing Chuikov further under the table, clutching the telephone box to his chest.

  “No, I didn’t hear you, Comrade.”

  The urgent voice repeated its enquiry, only louder.

  “At this time, I can only fucking guess, but if they’re working me over, then it’d be a fucking fair assessment, old friend!”

  More bombs, further away this time, rocked the concrete structure that had saved his life more than once since the first Allied aircraft appeared overhead just after 9 o’clock.

  “No…no… nothing. My men are working to get it all connected… no… radio room took a direct hit from something huge…yes…yes, I’ll wait...”

  At the other end, Zhukov was receiving a report from another source, so Chuikov took the opportunity to light a cigarette, although his preference would have been to knock back a vodka… or two.

  “Hello, yes, I’m still here... what… really?”

  Zhukov relayed the report of an attack on 1st Southern’s Headquarters, whilst Chuikov worked his jaw in an effort to improve his hearing.

  “Is Yeremenko ok?”

  Chuikov grimaced and spat, waving his arm at the waiting Lieutenant General, whose blood was steadily dripping onto the Marshal’s boots. The exhausted man lowered himself onto the ground, careful to avoid any sharp debris.

  Chuikov tossed his cigarettes to his Chief of Staff and probed him with his eyes as he listened, and received a small shake of the head.

  A near miss shook the whole structure, causing concrete to spall off the roof and drop on and around the pair.

  “Hello… hello…”

&nbs
p; Chuikov placed the receiver on the box and set the combination down on the floor.

  “Telephone’s fucked too now.”

  The two senior officers drew on their cigarettes.

  “Well, Alex?”

  Lieutenant General Bogoliubov pulled out a cloth and bound his badly gashed hand.

  “Whatever they were that the bastards dropped in the first attack… well… they were huge. We’ve lost our complete radio facility and all the staff… one bomb, dead centre, now just a huge hole surrounded by a pile of rubble and dead… burning too… the schloss is flattened… motor pool’s the same,” he grimaced as he pulled the temporary dressing tight, knowing that something was still lodged within the wound.

  “As far as I can see the headquarters is totally gone… smoke and flame… everything. I’ve organized efforts to firefight and rescue but… well… the whole duty group…” both ducked instinctively as the rain of bombs continued.

  Something was burning close by and the smoke started to trouble both men.

  “The whole duty group is probably gone, including Colonel General Tsvetayev.”

  Shouts and cheers outside marked a success against the medium bombers that were undertaking the third attack in the space of an hour.

  Another close one, probably the closest yet to Chuikov’s battered senses, shook the whole structure, and only the keenest ear would have managed to separate the sound of the explosion and a piece of heavy metal striking the side of the sleeping accommodation.

  “So, all fucking communications are down,” he kicked out at the useless telephone, “I’ve lost half my fucking staff, my fucking second in command… any good news, Comrade?”

  “None that comes immediately to mind, Comrade Marshal.”