The Sargent Major gave him a look. “I’m fine, Kelsey. I’ve had plenty of time off in the hospital and plenty more time getting used to this new foot of mine. Now be a good lad and get the inventory will you? Those shells are the only ones we have with the VT fuse.”
The private dug out some papers from a filing cabinet behind him and then opened a folder.
“Oh, I see. I heard those shells were like magic. All I can say is I’m not getting into any football matches with you and your wooden foot - I bet you can really belt that ball now. I suppose your running speed is not too impressive but then again, no one will want to get in your way, either. With that thing, you’d end up breaking someone’s leg if you missed the ball and kicked 'em in the shin. My mum always said that when God closes one door, he opens another. Why, I bet that…"
“Kelsey, be quiet will you, lad? I’m trying to work here,” sighed the visitor as he looked down the list… “What’s this?! What happened to all the 3.7-inch VT-fused ammunition? It doesn’t show up on the inventory sheets.”
“Oh most of those were packed up shortly after VE Day and sent off to Devon to be near the live-fire sites. Not much need for Archie munitions being spread all over the countryside anymore after that. It’s not like the Huns had any planes left. Somebody probably thought they needed to be nearer the training grounds. I think most of it went to Okehampton.”
“Seems like a strange place to store shells that are sensitive to being damp. I suppose someone must know what they’re doing. Anyway, it’s above my station to question the higher-ups. Well it’s time to get them out of there and back into the hands of the ack-ack gunners. Old Ivan is going to be paying us a visit soon it seems, and we’re going to need all those magic shells spread round again. Curious...didn’t they have instructions that they were to be kept dry and under no circumstances were they to be allowed to get damp?”
“Now that you mention it Sergeant-Major, I do remember something like that. I’m sure they kept them high and dry in Okehampton…hang on, that’s in Dartmoor isn’t it? It rains all the time there; seems a bit of a stupid place to store ammunition that's sensitive to getting damp. Well as you say I’m sure they know what they're doing. From what they tell me, those shells are amazing at knocking down planes. It would be an act of high treason to allow them to be damaged, if you ask me.”
“No one asked you Kelsey,” replied the Sergeant-Major, “Now, let’s get going on the paper work. Ivan is going to attack soon. I can feel it.”
“But the paper said that the deadline was the 15th of October...”
“I don’t trust that Stalin...never have. Short'uns are always trouble. They said that about Napoleon. My Colonel used to say, 'Never trust a small man, their brains are too near their arse.'”
Kelsey’s face fell, “That’s not fair, Sergeant-Major! Not all of us pint-sized folk are trouble!”
“That’s true Kelsey. For a shorthouse you’re a bloody good bloke.”
“Thank you Sergeant-Major...I think.”
The visitor left the private a little nonplussed as he left.
Dark Thoughts in The Night
Truman looks out at the night from his train car. He was once again crisscrossing the country trying to drum up support for the war effort. The American public was tired and fed-up with rationing and sacrificing her young men. He could feel it at every stop along the way. The money-men were not investing because of what they called the 'uncertainty of the situation in Europe.'
What uncertainty? It was certain that if they did not start emptying their pockets, that Europe would be forever under the boot of an even more brutal dictator than the one that they just defeated. We had to get this over with and we had to do it quick. The American public did not have a long attention span and the 'situation' in Europe was wearing thin. Enough were saying that we should not come to their rescue once more. But he knew that way lay folly.
An unchecked Stalin would soon have the wealth of Eurasia at his command; a land mass rich in all manner of resources, both human and mineral. Once he consolidated his hold there would be no possibility of invasion.
This war had to be finished, violently and swiftly. He just could not imagine invading a greater Soviet Union once they consolidated their power. Once Stalin controlled hundreds of millions of new hearts and minds the way he did in Russia, the game was over.
It was ironic that in order to prevent isolationism and the permanent subjugation of the European continent he would have to attack with everything he had way before he was ready. It had to happen within a year or the opportunity was lost, possibly forever. All the equipment from the aborted invasion of Japan was still available. All that was needed was a brilliant plan, and the will to carry it through to the very end. As tragic as it was, MacArthur’s death was a blessing in disguise. Just before his death, he had authored a brilliant plan absolutely stunning in its simplicity and logic. It was a campaign in the same style as his island-hopping strategy using the vast distances of the Soviet Union in much the same way as he used the vast distances between islands in the Pacific. Cut them off from their supply lines, isolate them and let them wither on the vine.
If everything went according to plan the campaign would produce minimum casualties and complete victory without slogging through the depths of Asia and in an acceptable time frame; a time frame that the American public would support and embrace.
But Mac was not the man to lead the campaign. That's why his death was fortuitous as well as being tragic. It prevented a protracted fight and any more delays. The perfect choice was of course Patton, but that man was dead as well. Both were pains in the ass, but he did mourn their loss. Plus he needed multiple Pattons, so the search began for the successors to the two greatest fighting generals the world had ever seen. The way was clear for a new generation of Blitzkrieg warriors.
Names like Alexander Patch, William Simpson, Kruger, Eichelberger, Collins, Bradley, Terry Allen, Joe Stillwell, Courtney Hicks Hodges, Alexander Archer Vandergrift came to mind. All are good men, and all are fully capable of doing what had to be done.
Once Stalin got the bomb it was also game over. We have to move and we'll have to do it while he was distracted by the British. We'll have to hit them hard and fast before they had time to set up the rest of those cursed missiles. What the hell was guiding them?
Yes we have to attack them where they're the weakest. We have to use our remaining atom bombs to their greatest effect, and we have to have them all work. We're going for blood. In the twentieth century, that means OIL! In boxing terms the fight over Britain and the Battle for the Pyrenees would be jabs. Jabs meant to keep the opponent off-balance and to set him up. What was about to happen, that would be a shot to the kidneys. Not too sporting, but when you're in a back-alley brawl, you do what you have to do to win.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Night
RAF Mosquito
***
Another bit of poetic license inserted into what would normally be a very dry subject. The RAF was not sitting on its collective hands during this time period and was constantly attacking the VVS as they prepared for the coming battle. This was submitted after the war by one of the RAF participants.
***
Mosquitoes Are Pests
The night was cold and clear. The stars were out in full-force and made men feel small and insignificant; which is the way it should be. As individuals we are insignificant. When gathered into armies we are far from insignificant, especially when it comes to the destruction that we can impose on each other and other living creatures. We don't seem to bother rocks or the wind too much but the things that live on those rocks and fly on the wind are affected in extremely dramatic ways.
Take for example the owl getting into position to snare a mouse that he has just spotted. This mouse would have made a sumptuous meal for the night. Just as it was starting its dive, Sergei Slimac’s Tu-2's starboard engine coughed to life and started the prop spinning at a high rate of speed. This caused t
he owl to flinch and alter its flight path, which made him miss his intended mark. The mouse dodged the proverbial bullet, or in this case the owl’s talon and lived another ten minutes.
All along the flight line other dramas were being played out. It was pitch-dark, mistakes were being made and corners were being cut. The goal was to launch all of the aviation regiment's planes in record time regardless of what obstacles the night provided. Things were actually going quite well, all things considered. Only two major incidents so far, but they did not hamper the operation. The Tu-2's of the 224th Attack Bomber Regiment maneuvered into place and then took off nose-to-tail, wing tip-to-wing tip, just like the commander had ordered. Three planes were already in the air when out of the blackness, death reigned.
The rumors were that it was only twelve night-flying British RAF Mosquitoes that caused so much death and destruction. It was suggested that having the marker lights on so that the Soviet medium bombers could take off and land, guided them into the perfect position to kill and maim so many on the ground and then hunt the three Tu-2's that were airborne. Only one Soviet bomber escaped major damage or outright destruction and that was the one being serviced in the old barn, well away from the rest of the buildings.
It just happened to be the barn that the owl lived and slept in during the day. The barn was saved but the owl was not. He was torn to tiny pieces by a 20-mm shell on its way to a bomber attempting to take off. The collision managed to divert the speeding shell just enough to save the pilot from having his head taken off. It did take off his arm at the elbow. This forced him to lose control of the brakes and rudder and he veered to the right and into two other planes whose pilots watched in horror as their comrade slammed into them. All three crews died instantly and the fireball created many more aiming points and targets for the marauding Mosquitoes.
The antiaircraft gun crews were finally able to respond but all the explosions and flashes from the devastated flight line had destroyed their night vision. One Mosquito decided to take another run at the airfield and he paid for this decision with his life. The Soviet-made 37-mm high-explosive round hit the plane five feet outboard on the port wing. Being so low and fast the pilot never stood a chance or possibly, had never comprehended the situation and slammed into the ground 248 yards from the south runway, killing the mouse that had earlier survived the misdirected owl's razor-sharp claws.
And that was it. In ten minutes, twenty-four men had altered the lives of countless creatures of the night and of their fellow men. The Soviets lost all but one Tu-2 medium bomber of the 224th Attack Bomber Regiment along with 46 dead personnel. The RAF lost one Mosquito high-speed night-fighter/bomber, along with its crew and two others, on planes three and nine, were also critically wounded and did not make it back home to England alive.
As it happens, not one of the surviving personnel at the Soviet airbase in Calais made it back to their homes in the USSR either. That is, except the pilot whose head was saved by the owl. He actually survived and most of him was transported back home to the Ukraine. That is, of course, minus his lower arm. He lived to be 91 years old and had five children and twenty-three grandchildren, and it was never determined how many great-grandchildren, one of whom became a very famous climatologist, but that is a tale for another time.
We’ll leave the Light on for you
We came in hot and heavy, flying at tree-top level. I don't think they even looked up until the first few explosions started to register in their uncomprehending brains. I can't say that I would have reacted any differently. Mosquito engines at full throttle, guns firing, rockets launching, then the explosions. Oh, what explosions they were! We must have hit something big.
Believe it or not I thought I caught a glimpse of an owl surrounded by explosions and chaos, dodging and weaving his way through the noise and the bright flashes that were once Soviet Tu-2 medium bombers. I lost sight of him almost right away but I'm pretty sure it was an owl just like we used to have out in the old barn; great creatures for keeping the mouse population in check. I bet he was surprised by all the mayhem around him.
As I climbed to gain a little altitude some tracers flashed by, but not from the ground. At first I thought it was friendly fire but then I saw the Tu-2's rear gunner plugging away at us from way too far away. I guess he was pretty upset at what we had done to his buddies and was trying to take some revenge. I hit the right rudder and the nose came around and when the lead was right, I squeezed the trigger and was blinded by the flash. Even with those suppressors it still can be pretty bright in the pitch-black of the night.
Basically my two-second burst cut the bomber in half. The tail gunner was still firing as he plunged out of sight. I guess he was so pissed, or scared, that he just couldn't think of anything else to do; even as he spiraled through the air, separated from the rest of the aircraft. It didn't take him long to hit the ground. There was not much of an explosion because there was not much fuel in the back end. The front half made quite a dent and lit up nicely.
Against the Skipper's explicit orders, Wilkins in Number 4 went back for another pass; this time some gunner with a 37-mm had either been ready for him or just got in a lucky shot. I caught a glimpse of him going down as the radar picked up a blip a little over a mile to our south. I notified the Old Man and he sent out Reynolds and Hardt, in numbers 5 and 6, to track it down. Minutes later the sky was lit up by a ball of flame that just seconds ago was a perfectly good Tu-2.
What I want to know is why the Reds were messing about at night with the runway lights on? It was obvious that they were not night-fighters just regular schlep bombers. What the hell were they taking off for a full three hours before dawn? I sure hope the Skipper remembers to tell someone about this. It certainly made it easy for us but why would they do that?
The end results are that we lost one and pretty much wiped out that entire regiment and its accompanying support personnel. Not much will be taking off from that field for a while. I would say that it was a resounding success.
Hopefully headquarters will authorize more of these raids. I mean, if Ivan is going to keep the lights on for us it would be rude of us not to drop in. Leaving the porch lights on is always an invitation, especially during times of war.
***
Novikov was no fool. You could not be and survive long
in close proximity to Stalin.
***
What Happened In Calais, Novikov?
“News travels fast Comrade Beria. But, of course, you should be one of the first to hear any kind of news. It appears that a rogue squadron of RAF night-fighter/bombers caught one of our attack-bomber regiments practicing night operations at their airfield. In order to take off they needed the airfield lights on and that must have attracted the enemy, like a moth to a flame. I'm sure it was an isolated incident but we will keep track of the trends.”
“And why were they practicing at night comrade?”
“We have some surprises in store for the RAF. We will never catch them by surprise, not with their advanced radar and their ground-spotting system and they will always be able to choose the time of attack. There is no way to hide our presence, consequently we will have to disguise our intentions, before they can react. We have a few things in our favor. The most critical of which is our numerical advantage.”
“We will use this to catch them landing, fueling and taking-off. Each one of our raids will be equal to their entire air force. I seriously doubt that they will concentrate all of their fighters into a small enough geographical area where they can all be available at the same time. If they do, so much the better, as the next wave will catch them landing rearming and refueling.”
“Even a Pe-2 can shoot down a landing Spitfire or destroy it on the ground. The few jets they do have are relegated to a few landing fields the locations of which are well-known to us. They will be destroyed taking-off, landing or refueling, just like our former allies did to the German jets. It is rather wonderful to have such great odds on your side.”
“To answer your question more directly, we will be over British skies from dawn until dusk and our pilots should have practice in taking off and landing at night. There will be no respite for the first week of combat for the British. If they rise up to meet us, then they will die in the air. If they cower in their bunkers, they will die on the ground; it is all the same to me. In the end, they will die.”
“Ambitious plan Novikov. Where are the supplies coming from?”
“Unlike the Germans in 1940 we have plenty of fuel and replacement pilots. We have had nine months to prepare and three months to move the supplies we need from the border. These supplies have been hoarded for the last six months and stored just for this battle. It was hoped that the British would see that Comrade Stalin's offer was their best choice but they seem to have chosen otherwise. Now the long time it took us to gather our supplies together will be upon us and they will be used to take away the skies of Britain from Attlee and the deluded leaders of that small island.”
“Thankfully; unlike Hitler our glorious leader Stalin, does not let ideology get in the way of practicality. I was amazed when he let that worm, Sergo empty the gulags of useful individuals. Stalin saw the inescapable logic of using that workforce for noble means and not just killing them by working them to death digging holes in the taiga. I've always thought that was a waste. If you're going to kill someone then just kill them...unless they have something to hide. Is that not so Novikov?”
“I am a fighting man, Beria. I would not know of such things. I kill men who are trying to kill me and leave the rest to fellows like you.”
“Quite right, Novikov...fellows like me.”
“True the planes will not be the newest, and one-on-one the English will be better for the most part, but they will not be five times better and they will definitely not be any better when they are at their most vulnerable. We know their loiter times and we know when they need to land. All we have to do is stay alive until they are at their most vulnerable. They will not expect our extended loiter times. We will time our sorties so as to coincide with their landings and refueling times. First, comes the bait, then, the fly-swatter.”
World War Three 1946 Series Boxed Set: Stalin Strikes First Page 30