by Gee, Colin
As always, Ike turned to his closest advisors for guidance.
George Patton had been against aborting Spectrum, as had McCreery and Bedell-Smith.
Devers, understandably, had supported the possibility, if only to free up some assets to make sure he could deal with any Soviet counter threat.
Bradley had sat on the fence, laying out his views on both actions and leaving the decision to Ike.
Tedder had argued the case for a partial halt to Spectrum, permitting the naval and deception plans to proceed whilst curtailing the other parts, perhaps because the RAF and USAAF had spent weeks moving assets in secret for the culmination of Spectrum Red.
In the end, Eisenhower let the whole thing run, turning to Spectrum Red to provide some stimulus to the main assault, albeit by an indirect route.
The tension in SHAEF headquarters was tangible.
It often was before big operations but, somehow, this time it felt different.
‘Spectrum’ was in trouble; certainly as far as the land war was concerned.
Eisenhower, Bedell-Smith, and Bradley sat engaged in small talk, occasionally interrupted by a new report, or a question from one of the staff.
One report concerned Italy and the destruction of a Red Army drive adjacent to the Swiss border. In general, the Italian front had descended quickly into stalemate, more because of the increasingly awful conditions than for reasons of stalwart defence.
Reports from Alexander suggested supply issues for the enemy forces, as did most reports across the board, but the weather across the Alpine region was diabolical, and it seemed that even the winter-hardened Soviet army was having difficulty.
Either way, it was welcome good news.
The coffee kept coming.
Eisenhower smoked and smoked, betraying his nervousness.
If Spectrum Red went according to plan, the Soviets would be chasing shadows for hours, if not days, during which they would lose considerable numbers of their air and naval assets. The opportunity to demonstrate Polish loyalty would prove a winner for later, should the expected opportunity present itself. If the operation ran long enough, then there was even a chance that assets could be drawn northwards, and away from Central Germany, making Patton’s job easier.
If...
It was Bradley who noticed the increase in volume first, a sure indicator that something was amiss.
He nudged Bedell-Smith and pointed at two Colonels and a Brigadier General in animated conversation.
“Something’s put a burr under their collective asses, Walter.”
John Cunningham, the Brigadier General in question, recently returned from his spell in hospital post Frankfurt air raid, took the two reports, and moved towards the three senior men.
Eisenhower had also noted the agitated nature of the staff discussion.
“John, what gives?”
“Sir, we have received two reports from Italy.”
Perhaps understandably, all three men relaxed, so focussed were they on the cold waters of the Baltic.
“Go on, John.”
“Sir, the initial report was from Field Marshal Alexander, indicating an angry communication from the Yugoslavian leadership regarding our armed incursion into their territory, and the deaths of nearly one hundred of their soldiers.”
The three mouths spoke as one.
“What?”
Cunningham was about to confirm what he had just said, but was interrupted.
“And the second report?”
Eisenhower cut to the chase.
“Sir, it’s from General Freyberg reporting a Yugoslavian infiltration and attack in progress at Trieste.”
Things started happening thick and fast from that point, and within thirty seconds, Eisenhower was passed a telephone by a Staff Captain.
“Sir, Field Marshal Alexander for you. Urgent, sir.”
“Harry, I’ve just heard. Tell me what you know.”
As Monday slipped quietly into Tuesday, Harold Alexander revealed what he knew about the supposed British Army provocation that precipitated the Yugoslavian attack.
Which, of course, was precisely zero.
He had more information on the Trieste situation and elsewhere along a suddenly active thirty-mile front in North-east Italy.
A front recently seen as relatively quiet had abruptly become the most volatile place in Europe.
Within fifteen minutes, General Grandes, the Spanish liaison officer, immaculately dressed, despite his rude awakening, was being consulted on the movement of Spanish forces in Italy.
Meanwhile, to the north, Allied sailors commenced Spectrum Red.
Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men.
David Garrick.
Traditional Naval toast for a Tuesday-
‘To our men!’
Chapter 117 - THE ILLUSION
0017 hrs, Tuesday, 10th December 1945, the Kattegat.
“We’re in position Lechlade now, Number One.”
“Thank you, Nav. Skipper, we’re in position Lechlade.”
“Expose port, Number One.”
The orders flowed around the decks of HMS Charity and the port searchlight exposed, shaded in red, sending a reduced beam of scarlet light towards the eastern shoreline.
Charity was a modern C Class destroyer, commissioned on the 19th November 1945.
She was the flagship of Force V, the Royal Naval contribution to the Spectrum plan.
All the officers on her narrow bridge had their binoculars focussed on the shore, its illuminated signs of civilization betraying that it was not a land at war.
“There it is, Number One.”
Everyone saw it as clear as day.
A single green light.
The Swedes were good to their word.
The Charity’s Captain looked at the muffled figure set aside on the bridge wing, and received a nod.
“Number One, Signal all ships, Proceed as planned, Godspeed.”
The First Lieutenant made off to the yeoman waiting at the signalling lamp, and supervised the procedure.
“Sparks, send to the Admiralty. Lechlade Green, Send our position and time of contact.”
“Aye aye, Skipper.”
Commander Hamilton Ffoulkes, Captain of HMS Charity, accepted the scalding hot mug of Kai from the rating who always seemed to magically appear at the right moment.
A second mug went to the shadowy figure, who acknowledged its presence with a grunt, his mind consumed by the task his flotilla was about to undertake, and the risk that it could all go so horribly wrong.
He sighed audibly, attracting comment from Ffoulkes.
“Sir? The Kai not to your liking?”
“Come to mention it, Commander Ffoulkes, it’s a smidgen light on the chocolate, wouldn’t you say?”
As it was anything but light on chocolate, Ffoulkes was at a loss on how to respond.
“Possibly light on condensed milk, Admiral, but the chocolate level seems fine to me.”
“The perfect mug of Kai evades us all, Commander.”
Rear-Admiral Jacques stepped forward, the low light on the bridge illuminating a smiling face.
“Now, the Swedes are doing their bit. So, it’s down to us to give the Russians a fright and stir their little ant’s nest up.”
“Indeed, Admiral. Twenty minutes to Oxford I suggest.”
The points of signalling were named after places on the Thames, starting with Lechlade at the source of the great river, all the way to London, which marked the place where they would either convince the enemy that a mighty fleet was on its way into the Baltic, or they would provide light target practice for whatever ships and aircraft the Soviets could muster.
Spectrum Red was a sham; a Trojan horse, designed to fool the Soviet forces into moving some ground forces but, above all, drawing their air and naval forces into the attack, and a trap of monumental proportions.
Oxford Green.
Pangbourne Green.
Reading Green.
The points came and went, each muffled red display bringing a reply indicating that all was well.
Ahead of the destroyer and flagship were two minesweepers, HMS Jason and HMS Rye, plying their trade in silence. The Navy was taking every precaution with Spectrum Red.
Behind HMS Charity came the many smaller vessels; Vosper, Thornycroft, and White MTB’s, even two ex-US Navy Elco boats, each of the twenty-eight lesser vessels towing four to six even smaller vessels, each of which had been specially prepared for the huge part they had to play in Spectrum Red.
There had been more when they had first gathered in Findhorn Bay, near Forres, in Scotland, but the waters of the North Sea were rarely benign, and sixteen, plus one each of a White and an Elco, had been claimed by the unfriendly waters. The White had caught fire and burnt out in record time; the Elco had simply floundered and dragged down her five charges.
The area of Findhorn Bay had been constantly overflown by aircraft from the 19th Operational Training Unit, based at nearby RAF Kinloss. The OTU continued to watch over the special convoy of MTBs and smaller ships until Coastal Command units based in Denmark took over the responsibility, and overwatched Force V into the entrance to the Baltic, where they joined with another force of boats from Harwich, each towing three additional vessels.
A handful more had floundered before they passed Helsingborg, also known as Reading Green, before the order came and the lights came on.
Aboard each towing vessel, a range of switches were engaged, causing lights on small masts to illuminate. A few presented failed circuits, but enough worked to do what was needed.
Close at hand, they looked like exactly what they were but, from distance, in the dark, they could possibly be interpreted as an armada about to enter the home waters of the Baltic, the backyard of the Soviet Navy and Soviet Naval Aviation, a matter that the planners at SHAEF knew would not go unchallenged. In fact, they were counting on it.
It had been Tørget’s idea.
There was no way that the Allies would have dared suggest it, of course, but the Swedish leadership were more on side than previously, following the revelations involving the GRU spy, Admiral Søderling. The head of Military Intelligence now had plenty of allies in his own government, all of whom were prepared to do anything to upset the Soviet balance, short of declaring for one side, or the other.
The mission served two purposes.
Firstly, it enabled the Swedes to officially state that they did not permit the Allied intrusion, and actually made efforts to resist against it, although the anti-aircraft batteries that fired skywards had a number of MI officers on site, each aware of special unwritten orders that outlined the general expectation of the Swedish High Command that no shell should come within a thousand feet of any of the attacking aircraft.
As is the habit of these things, not all went to plan, and one Lancaster was fatally struck, crashing on a sliver of Soviet-held Denmark.
The destroyed aircraft and dead crew would later add weight to the information that started to flood into the intelligence and command headquarters of the USSR, evidencing Sweden’s assertion that they had not been complicit and stood firm against the incursions.
The second reason the mission went ‘noisy’ was to ensure that a small group of Russians was wide-awake as Force V passed them.
In the opening moves of the new conflict, a small group of Soviet Naval specialists had been landed on the southern end of Saltholm Island.
They had been tasked with monitoring naval activity in the Øresund, and they had been very successful.
Bletchley Park had been the first to detect them and their signals were monitored closely. Their reports mirrored Swedish naval activity, or the few small scale naval excursions undertaken by the Royal Navy and her allies. It was decided to leave them alone, for now.
The Danes were compliant allies and did not disturb the Soviet observers, although they mounted patrols from their fort, on the northern edge of Saltholm Island, studiously failing to note anything untoward.
The RAF’s contribution to Spectrum Red swung into action.
Two flights of aircraft from 617 Squadron RAF, selected for their ability to metaphorically ‘drop a pebble down a chimney’, flew into Swedish air space, their purpose to attack Göteborg, or at least, to look like they had.
The first group planted their bombs on and around Gota airbase. Everything of worth had been moved into the rock shelters, created in the cliff face during 1942. Old J8 fighters were exposed to the falling bombs, and a dozen were destroyed. The obsolete aircraft, known as Gladiators when in RAF service, served no great purpose, and besides, modern replacements had already been purchased from Britain two months beforehand, or at least the paperwork would reflect that, before the delivery of the twenty Spitfires took place.
617’s second group made an excellent job of destroying a few acres of woodland in the suburb of Delsjo, particularly chosen because it would ensure that the nearby Soviet Consulate was wide awake, and talking urgently to Moscow.
Two Mosquitoes from 105 Squadron RAF were tasked with bringing the war even closer to the consulate and the first pass destroyed the second largest building in the compound, a building identified by Tørget as staffed purely by NKVD personnel.
Goteborg’s power was cut by a senior power company official, who had been briefed on his personal responsibilities to his country beforehand, but the Consulate had its own generator.
Just prior to the loss of power across the city, the second Mosquito had reduced the generator building and the nearby garage to a smoking ruin, thus ensuring that the Consulate’s desperate calls to the Motherland were cut short.
The Light Night Striking Force of 105, 139, and 692 Squadrons RAF, flying Mosquito bombers, carefully ‘attacked’ Swedish coastal emplacements, as would have been done, had a Naval force been forcing a passage into the Baltic.
Using skill to drop their HE far from the Swedish guns, or putting the occasional deliberate dud on target, and generally bathing the positions with light, the LNSF contributed greatly to the illusion that SHAEF was trying to create.
The planning took account of the position of the Saltholm observers ,and was timed to the second to ensure that Force V was, at no time, directly illuminated by the RAF strikes.
Part of the Swedish contribution was to ensure that the coastal illuminations disappeared, as would clearly be prudent for a country suddenly finding itself under attack, also ensuring that the naval forces could move past Saltholm without a revealing backdrop of light.
On Saltholm, the Red Navy observer group had become accustomed to quiet and boring nights.
This one transformed for them as aircraft clearly attacked the Swedish shore installations, some ten kilometres away.
Whilst their mission was to report on seaborne activity, the Captain in charge felt that he needed to call this one in, and so the radio lit up with his report.
The activity was noted by a dedicated team in Bletchley Park.
Twenty-one minutes later, they noted further activity, and the cipher team was passed a message that they, disappointingly, took nearly sixteen minutes to decode.
Sir Roger Marais Dalziel picked up the receiver, waiting as a secure connection was made.
“Sam, good morning. Report from the boathouse. The canoes have been spotted heading to the canal, and are safe and sound.”
Dalziel smiled at the reply.
“Soon enough, Sam. Good night.”
Eisenhower took a sip of his coffee as Rossiter, grinning from ear to ear, replaced the receiver with a flourish.
“Sir. They’ve been spotted and reported as a large, but unidentified, enemy naval force, possibly over one hundred vessels, sailing south-east into the Baltic.”
Ike checked his watch.
“Thank you, Sam. I think we’d better get Arthur up and ready, so that his boys can do their thing.”
Eisenhower had ordered Arthur Tedder to rest, prior to the implementation of S
pectrum Red and, it was noted, he hadn’t argued much.
Turning to Somerville and the recently arrived Dönitz, Ike could see that they had both understood the latest development.
“So, Sir James. When’s ‘lights out’?”
He quickly consulted with the small German Admiral, nodding as Donitz pointed at a figure from a column of figures that detailed the timings of Spectrum Red.
“0405 hrs, Sir.”
0401 hrs, Tuesday, 10th December 1945, Ten miles south-south-west of Trelleborg, Sweden.
The sound had attracted her at first.
Delicately caressing her sonar gear at first, the sound of turning screws of all shapes and sizes had grown and enticed her forward.
The ‘Lembit’ and her companion, L3 ‘Frunzenets’, were on a mission to re-mine the waterway south of Øresund, and were running straight in towards Force V.
Lembit’s apparatus had detected the approaching sounds, and her crew had gone to battle stations, followed a minute later by L3.
Lembit was an ex-Estonian Navy submarine that had begun life in a British shipyard, being launched in 1936. She was labelled a mine-laying submarine, with eight torpedoes and twenty-four mines to strike out with.
L3 was an older submarine that first tasted the cold water of the Baltic in 1931. She also carried mines, twenty of them, as well as twelve torpedoes.
The two Soviet captains made very different decisions, once they had spotted the wave of barely distinguishable lights about to ride over them.
The Lembit’s commander, an old and wise sea dog with a penchant for survival, dropped his submarine to its full safe depth and turned southwards, intent on finding somewhere that he could safely surface and contact his superiors, once his radio had been repaired of course.
L3’s Captain, Peep Korjus, a young and ambitious Estonian Senior Lieutenant, saw only glory, and a chance to save the Motherland from further hurt.