World War Three 1946 Series Boxed Set: Stalin Strikes First

by Harry Kellogg

Bench 348

  Moscow, The U.S.S.R.

  July 23th, 1946

  15:25 hours

  “We now know the date and location of the Americans’ first raid. There will be one and possibly two atomic bombs in the bomber force.”

  “How are the preparations coming along?”

  “Very well; the MiG-9 is proving to be a good interceptor and can reach a service ceiling of over 13,000 meters. Along with its 37-mm cannon it will be a formidable opponent. Our sources have confirmed that the escorts for the raid will be the P-51D Mustang and not the new American jet. They are so supremely confident in their Superfortress, that they are not willing to risk their jet engine falling into our hands. Little do they know that we already have everything we need to produce one.”

  “Ha! If the MiG-9 performs as it has during our war-games, it should be an easy match for the Mustangs and even eventually, the Shooting Star. I’ve heard that it’s not as fast as the American jet, but it should be able to outturn it. In the end, it is faster than the Mustangs, and can outturn the Shooting Star.”

  “Yes that is the theory, and our pilots have all been trained to attack the enemy in the proper manner. They will dive and climb to attack the Mustangs and try to get the Shooting Stars into a fight of circles, trying to turn inside of them. The MiG's real task is to present a threat that the escorts cannot ignore while the real killing is done by remote control. They are all flown by our best pilots and should be able to do quite well against the veteran Americans. From what we have learned, many of America’s best pilots did not stay in the military and still have not come back. We also killed many of their best during the first hours of the Liberation War. The capitalist pigs are too busy making money. They would rather become rich than fight for their allies and former foes.”

  “It is a case of our best pilots, against their training program. We should have parity for quite a while. Sergo has studied the weaknesses of both the German and Japanese air warfare programs. We are not oil poor as the Germans were, and we can keep our planes in the air, and train the new pilots. And unlike the Japanese, we are putting an emphasis on training new pilots. On another subject...my engineers have been able to significantly enhance the reliability of the RD-21 engine. But of course this is not our main weapon in the fight to keep the American Superfortress from destroying our cities.

  That Sergo Peshkov fellow has placed much of his faith in missile technology and the Pe-9's to fire the X-4. The Pe-9's are acutely vulnerable to the American jets. We have devised a way to hide their crucial role. Hopefully they will go on killing B-29's at an alarming rate and all of the so-called 'Silverplates,' carrying the atomic bombs. We must make it look like chance that we were able to shoot them down; otherwise our plan would be compromised. We are counting on their arrogance to defeat them. Until then we can produce the weapons we need to defeat them with our strength and not just our wits.”

  “Let’s hope it all works. I prefer brute-force rather than a chess match myself. Up till now, Peshkov and his chess board are all that Stalin listens to.”

  “How many MiG's are available?”

  “Just twenty, as of today, but again, we don’t need many to accomplish our mission. Their goal is to divert attention away from the Pe-9's and to create confusion as to what is doing the greatest damage. The hope is that it will take the Americans months to figure it out and by then, we will have new tricks up our sleeve. We can then use the brute-force of numbers that I prefer.”

  “And how many of these Pe-9's are available?

  “Let me look at the latest report…ah, we have thirty-four, and they carry eight missiles each. We shall see how much confusion they can cause. They will really be concentrating on the planes carrying the atomic bombs. Our cities can withstand a conventional bombing campaign, given the new weapons we have developed, but not the atomic bomb. We have to stop that most evil of weapons one-hundred percent of the time. Not one must be allowed to detonate over our cities.”

  The bigger of the two men gets up and begins to pace about the room.

  “I spoke to Andrei, and the ground missiles are performing quite well. We are running out of Tupolev SB's. They are shooting them down quite regularly at heights up to 10,000 meters. You’ll get a laugh out of this…I was talking to Novikov, and the best missile operators are women… specifically women from the Chechniya-Ingushetia area. That clown Sergo was doing his testing in Siberia, where many Chechens were placed after their rebellion, and the men placed quite high in the skills needed. Then it was further discovered that the highest scoring individuals were actually women, pretending to be men. Possibly trying to avoid being raped, though we never were able to discover exactly why, but I digress. It seems that there is something in these women’s racial heritage that makes them excellent missile operators, and they have an uncanny ability to steer the missiles right to the target. It’s quite remarkable, I've been told.”

  The shorter man reaches for a cigarette and strikes a match which lights up his side of the room. He takes a deep drag, which briefly casts a small glow over the paper he is holding.

  “Well, we shall see, won’t we? That brings back a memory. I remember reading about an American Indian tribe whose members were fearless at great heights, and the capitalist pigs forced them into building their skyscrapers. It must be the same kind of gift, or curse, depending on your point of view. I would not want to be working so many stories high just to make another man rich. Hopefully our Missile-Women will love shooting down the American bombers and saving their children in the process.”

  “Yes we shall see. I hope for Leningrad’s sake, it will all work in our favor.”

  Chapter Twelve: Death of a Division

  US Army M26 Pershing Heavy Tank

  ***

  This is a tragic tale of incompetence at command level that dooms an entire division. It also illustrates just how foolish it would have been for the US forces to make a stand before adequate preparations were completed. The Soviet doctrine of Deep Battle would have devastated the remaining US forces in Western Europe if cooler heads had not prevailed.

  ***

  Temporary Headquarters,

  20th Armored Division

  Major General Mark Green, Commanding

  Outside of Baby, France

  July 23rd, 1946

  06:34 hours

  The huge new American tanks try to maneuver through their tight turns, just outside of a hastily-erected command tent. The tanks are the newest in the U.S. arsenal, the M-26, also known as the 'Pershing.' A few seem to be having trouble making the steep grades just out of sight. Gears can be heard grinding and crunching, as the engines come close to stalling. One finally does and the driver, with his commander cursing at him, tries to restart the machine. All the commotion attracts the attention of a harried officer, who rushes to enter the command tent.

  “Get your ass in here Cole! I’m tired of running. We need to get some combat experience for these raw recruits in the division. I want you to put Regimental Combat Team Able southwest, along the river. Assign Regimental Combat Team Baker to cover the bridge and Regimental Combat Team Charlie to northeast, also along the river. Put Armored Task Force Patton in reserve, behind Team Baker. It’s time to see how those new Pershings stack up against the Soviets' best. We'll see how that JS-2 takes a 90-mm in the face. Mine all the roads in and out of Baby, and rig the bridge for demolition.”

  The Colonel looks startled and then decides to hazard a comment.

  “Sir, may I remind you that before we lost communications, we were told to stay out of harm’s way and just remain in contact with the Reds. We were not supposed to become heavily engaged.”

  The general stands up from his chair and glares at the officer.

  “What the hell are we doing here then? I didn’t come over here to keep running from Bolsheviks. This is a perfect setup for an ambush. We’ll give 'em a bloody nose, and then set them up for the next one. Goddamn it, don’t worry Cole! I’m not an idio
t! I’m not going to get suckered into a stand up fight. We’re just going to kick them in the teeth and then keep on 'relocating to the rear'.”

  “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  “Go ahead Cole.”

  “We have a reconstituted unit sir, made up of a lot of green troops straight out of basic training. Their training was cut short by two weeks, and they were stuffed on a bunch of cramped four-stacker transports, and shipped here to France. Some of these guys can’t even figure out the new gearshift patterns of the M-26, much less drive in a straight line. I think this is a bad idea, sir. These boys have never seen the elephant much less a Soviet JS-2 heavy tank at full throttle.”

  “Listen Cole. We have to stand and fight sometime and now’s the time! Don’t get your undies in a bundle; we’re not going to stay long … just long enough to see the elephant, as you put it and then we continue as ordered. I’m sure the old man won’t whine if we take a few JS-2's out. We’ll just keep in contact, by punching them in the mouth. Now get your ass out there and get this bunch in line. Briefing's at 07:10…now move it soldier.”

  “Yes sir.”

  NATO HQ

  London

  July 23th, 1946

  14:40 hours

  A panicked officer rushes into General of the Army Omar Bradley's office and breathing heavily announces “Excuse me sir, but you really need to have a look at this.”

  “What is it Compton?”

  “We've lost communications with the 20th Armored Division. They were ordered to stay in contact with the Soviet 14th Tank Army, but not to engage.”

  “Fill me in on this unit Sid. Is this one of those fresh off the freighter, and who’s in command?”

  “Yes sir. It's an untested, reconstituted, division brought back from the continental U.S., under the command of Major General Mark Green.”

  “Untested and reconstituted, huh? Isn't that a polite term for 'fresh meat' Sid? I think I remember General Green. Isn't he that cocky bastard who was one of Al Brown's regimental commanders in the 5th Division, always bragging about how easy it was to just drive into Czechoslovakia and Austria last year? How'd that son-of-a-bitch get a star, let alone two?”

  “Yes sir, he was. And I don't know exactly how sir. I heard that he is a U.S. Senator's son”

  “How exactly are they out of communication; and for how long?”

  “About six hours now sir, ever since the Reds started jamming our signals again. The other units have adapted, but the 20th Armored doesn’t have a Signals Battalion assigned to it yet. We sent out a Signals Company to regain contact, but they haven't reported in. We have indications that there are Red units of battalion-size, and greater, that are in position to cut off the 5th’s egress.”

  The officer jumps to his feet and crosses the room much faster than a man his size should be able to.

  “How in God’s name did that happen?!?!?”

  “General Green, apparently decided to stand and fight at Baby. Here are some maps that show you the general situation.”

  Both officers look briefly at the map. Each is an expert at assimilating the symbols on the paper.

  “It looks like Green had a pretty good setup, behind the river. We believe he was going to ambush the leading elements of the Reds to give his troops some combat experience, then move on south following his orders to Brive-la-Galliarde.”

  “The next map shows how he got his ass in a sling by trying to improvise.”

  “By delaying his retrograde movement too long he gave the Soviets time to set-up in back of him. There are two recon battalions to his southeast that can slow him up just enough for the Soviet 27th Tank Division to cut him off.”

  “For crying out loud … what the hell was that idiot thinking? Get me General Eisenhower back in Washington on the phone … NOW! Then cut orders for the 101st Airborne to stand-by, we might need them to get in the line as regular infantry. Get me in contact with Green! I don’t care if you have to crash-land a plane in there with a working radio! GET ME GREEN! Then get Norgard in here, and have him bring me the status of every air unit within range of the 20th Armored. What kind of distances are we talking here? Didn’t they have the 49th Quartermaster Brigade assigned to them for safe-keeping?”

  “It’s about twenty miles from Baby to Brive-la-Galliarde, and yes, they did.”

  Communications Center,

  NATO Headquarters,

  London

  July 24th, 1946

  06:35 hours

  A small figure tries to make himself smaller, while huddling under a piece of wreckage. He digs a radio out from under the crushed body of a passenger that was in the pile of twisted metal that was a small plane.

  “Hello…this is Private Johnson of the 20th Armored Division… Hello? Can anyone hear me? Over.”

  A startled radio operator twenty miles away jumps out of his seat and keys the mike.

  “We hear you…Private…Use the assigned protocol. Over.”

  “I don’t know what the protocol is. Shit, I just dug this radio out from under a crashed plane and wondered if it worked. I got lucky, just getting you. Who is this anyway? Over”

  “This is NATO Western Command Private. Lieutenant Casey speaking. Over”

  “How do I know that you are who you say you are? Over.”

  “Ask me a question only an American would know. Over.”

  “Ah…Okay. Who won the Kentucky Derby in 1945? Over.”

  “Jesus Johnson! How would I know? I don't follow horse-racing! Ask about something normal, like baseball. Over.”

  “Are you a commie? I’m from Kentucky, and everyone knows it was Hoop Junior! Okay, how about an easier one…who was the jockey? …. Oh, ah, over.”

  “Come on Johnson, you're killing me! Ask me something a real American would know about, like about football or the movies! Over.”

  “I bet you are a commie … Let’s see… All right, Who’s on first. Over.”

  “….That’s right. Over.”

  “Alright, now we’re talking! We’re in real bad shape here Lieutenant. The General and his staff were captured. Me and some the guys in my squad think it happened when they went to check on a problem to our south. Something about the Reds blocking the road and taking out the supply guys that were behind us. Anyway, we haven’t heard from anyone higher than a Major in a while, then this plane dropped in our lap. Pilot and passenger are both dead. We got a bunch of Captains and Lieutenants running around not able to find their asses in the dark with a flashlight……. Damn! Umm, no offense intended, sir… Over.”

  “It's alright, Private. You’re doing a hell of a job. Find one of those Captains, or maybe even a Major for me. Over”

  “Gladly sir. Except that I’m pinned down by those same damn Reds that we were supposed to ambush. Our tankers are firing the wrong shells or something, 'cause they're just bouncing off the armor of biggest-assed Red tanks I’ve ever seen!” Lieutenant Casey can hear the panic in Private Johnson's voice growing over the radio.

  “Private? Are you there? Private Johnson? Over”

  The radio hisses for what seems like an eternity.

  “Yeah I’m here, Lieutenant. They’re shelling around the plane. That was a close one. The same damned tank that killed the Major is hunting for me now sir. I gotta move. Listen sir. The dope is that we’re supposed to head up this here little road, to the east towards…Viola or violin…no, it's Vigeois. Is that the way out of here? The word is that it’s a really bad road and not in the greatest of shape. Over.”

  “Listen Private, we really need you to get to someone who is in charge. We need to know the situation, before we can give you orders. Get the ranking officer on the radio. Over.”

  “You guys don’t get it. We’re being overrun. I got no way of getting this radio to anyone. I’m just hunkered under this plane, and the Reds are breathing down my neck. I can’t move, I can’t even talk loud. It’s amazing this radio still works much less trying to move it and finding an officer...a G
ODDAMNED OFFICER, beggin' pardon, sir!”

  “Alright Johnson, take it easy. I just took a look at our maps, and the operations officer on duty told me to give you these orders... If you are indeed cut off from the south then you will need to go to Vigeois. You are right that the tanks won’t be able to make the bridges, or through some of the gorges. You’ll have to leave them behind is what I’m being told. Use them as a rear guard to cover your retreat then when you're ready to leave them, strip their breechblocks and torch their engines. From the looks of the map, you should have everyone head east, then take the first road headed south, towards…Objat. Got all that, Johnson? Do you copy? Over.”

  “Got it NATO…Trash the tanks, then head out on foot east, then south, to Objat. Over”

  “Good job Private. We’ll be sending the 101st Airborne to relieve you as soon as possible, and you'll likely never hear the end of it. Over.”

  “Aw shit sir, not those cowboys from the 101st! Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers. Thanks, Lieutenant Casey. Over”

  “Good luck, Johnson…say what’s your first name? Over.”

  “Lars... and my wife’s name is Emma. That’s Emma Johnson, in Louisville, Kentucky. Over”

  “Good luck Lars. Over…..Johnson do you read me? Over...Johnson?”

  “Sorry sir, We seem to have lost the signal.”

  The radio operator looks right past the Major and tries to hide his emotions, as he writes down “Pfc. Lars Johnson, of Louisville, Kentucky, husband of Emma Johnson.”

  ***

  The staff officer strode with purpose into General of the Army Omar Bradley's office holding a sheaf of papers, “Sir, we just made contact with someone from the 20th Armored. Major Stanley and Lieutenant Feingold died crash-landing their L-5 with the radio in it.”

  “Well, spit it out Watkins! What did Green have to say for himself and about his situation? Get him on the horn now!”