World War Three 1946 Series Boxed Set: Stalin Strikes First

by Harry Kellogg

  “I don’t like the idea of jumping into the mountains. At least it’s the foothills, and not the real mountains. Let me look at the operational plan again... Hmm...we are expected to hold out for six days this time; quite a change for the three weeks that we held off the French.”

  “Remember when those American fools tried to bluff their way through the entrance? I don’t know what their plan was but we stopped it pretty quick eh comrade? But, then again, maybe they weren’t bluffing and actually didn’t know that we had taken over their base.”

  “The French didn’t press their attacks either knowing that our glorious forces were marching, like the Golden Horde through Germany and would soon be their masters. Remember that one attack on about our tenth day there?”

  “Yes where they made that big yell, ran two steps, and then ran away, all the way back to Paris. I don’t think they got even close enough for us to shoot any of them; a truly bloodless victory, comrade; one to remember.”

  “I heard they fought well under De Gaulle, in the Maginot Line nonetheless. Down to the last man. It helped us to be guarding massive amounts of heavy weapons and ammunition.”

  “Yes, it’s amazing what the right leader can do to motivate even defeated troops. Their names will go down in history, even though their bodies will go into a shallow grave. Maybe they will be dug up again and given the honors they deserve some day.”

  “Amazing that those German prisoners-of-war at the depots never gave us any concern. They just stayed in their barracks and watched. I guess when we shot their leader after he talked back to Georgy that kind of set the mood. That was the first air-drop that I remember where I was better supplied with heavy weapons and artillery than my enemy. All we had to do was to start up one of those Shermans, and that was enough to make most of them run.”

  “Remember searching for those electronic wonder-boxes in the depot? The NVKD definitely wanted to gain possession of those; some kind of electronic machine that could do damage to the Yankee and Limey radios, or super artillery, or something. They never told us what they were for but they wanted them to be our first priority. I still remember what we were supposed to look for “AP-4”... find AP-4. It’s hard to do when all the labels are in a different language. They were screaming at us once we found 50 or so to guard them with our lives. I wonder what those machines were used for?

  “Enough of old times, when is our day to jump?”

  “September 23rd, according to the Western calendar. I cannot get a proper calendar anywhere, only these French ones. I might just miss New Years because I can’t figure out what day it is back in the Motherland. How can they have such different dates for everything? I’ll miss a number of traditions, like the yolka, oh, I meant the New Year's Tree. I love decorating the … tree, even if it is just with homemade ornaments and then there’s Grandfather Frost and the Snegurochka. I love the part where her heart melts her when she falls in love.”

  “You sound like a little girl Vasily.”

  “Oh Yuri, I just miss home. I thoroughly enjoyed our leave before these svolochy Amerikosi provoked us into this war. It’s been a pretty easy fight so far. Not like Poland. Even though those Germans were defeated, they still fought like crazy men.”

  “They were fighting for their homeland just like we did, comrade. Now, we are not, but neither are the Americans. How hard are they willing to fight for the Frogs? Our march through Germany and France was much like a leisurely drive down a country lane at least until we hit these damned mountains. Do you think the Americans will have the heart to fight for the Italians and Germans once again? They say the new government forming here in France has many old communists; men who have been following the teachings of Marx far longer than I have. I hear that the British have many workers that are waiting to be freed from the capitalist yoke as well.”

  “Time will tell, comrade…time will tell.”

  Soviet Paratroopers

  Chapter Thirty-One:

  The Team “The Eyes Have It”

  Soviet Tank Factory

  ***

  The following is from the diary of Sergo and a recording device installed by Beria.

  ***

  The Eyes are the Window to the Soul

  He looked into the eyes of a killer. One can guess that the conviction of his beliefs had given him the courage to do so. It was a courage that he never knew that he possessed. It was a courage that might get him horribly tortured, or even murdered. If he had known just how utterly ruthless his inquisitor was he may have acted differently. But what did it matter whether a man killed one person, or millions? He was still a killer.

  He had to focus and stop thinking about how short the man behind the desk was. He had to ignore the pocked-marked skin and concentrate on what the cruel mouth behind the large mustache was saying. He needed to focus on what the actual words were and what the veiled threat behind them was. Because of how his mind worked, it was hard for him to tell these things.

  His mind was like a machine. Everything was orderly and logical. He was usually helpless, when he had to deal with other humans' feelings. He was not a sociopath, just not adept at picking up the physical cues that most people took for granted. The meanings of the change of tone, or emphasis on certain words eluded him. He was sorely lacking in interpersonal skills. Logically he realized this, but it did him no good. He just didn’t have the capacity to adapt to most of the difficult situations that most of us readily cope with on a daily basis. The difference between a white lie and a real lie puzzled him.

  Consequently he never lied.

  The man across the table from him lived to lie. He ate lies. He breathed lies. To him, it came as naturally as blinking your eyes. He was a master at it. Sergo was helpless on many levels if the man with the mustache wanted to destroy him. He could tell Sergo a lie about a subject dear to his heart and in so doing, psychologically rip his ego apart in less than three sentences. He could send his mind into the depths of hell and cause suicidal thoughts with relative ease. The man across the table has both killed and crushed the very souls of thousands of victims.

  Yet, with Sergo he didn't. He was never even tempted. From the first time they met he knew exactly how valuable this thing, that called itself a man, was. Imagine having a conversation with this human calculator, this idiot-savant of logic, feeding into it all the pertinent information needed, and absolutely counting on it to give you the most logical and unemotional solution to any problem. Give him the facts and the most logical solution would come out devoid of any politics or emotion. Yet he was able to factor in human feelings, such as jealousy and fear, into his calculations. In essence he was much more valuable than what we now know as a computer.

  Sergo was such a fiasco as a functioning human being that he posed no apparent threat. He was the closest thing there was to a living, breathing, calculating-machine that ever existed. The only thing that touched his soul was flight. The only thing he dreamed about or spent idle moments thinking about, were birds and planes; that, and puzzles.

  He loved solving puzzles whether just in his mind, or ones that involved any kind of logical system. He tended to reduce all problems he was given to solve into abstract terms and then worked them out in his mind, like someone playing chess. If this piece does that, then this piece can counter here; action and reaction…if we did that, they do this. Yet he was able to build into his solutions the human factor. There was just enough humanity built into him to factor in the emotions that a machine could never emulate.

  This made him invaluable. That meant he will not meet the same fate that befell so many others. That meant that Sergo will probably die peacefully, in his own bed.

  “The Dream Team”

  Georgy 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 the 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 h
e had designed and each of the fifty-thousand workers was, to him, just a number, just another cog to be placed into the machine of the expanded Soviet aerospace effort. Sergo just looked at the test results and then categorized each 'rehabilitated' worker and put them in those file drawers of his, according to some system he kept in his head.

  They had tried to get him some kind of assistance to help him with his job or just something to ease his burdens, as well as to spy on him. 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 young man who liked other men, but that didn’t work either. He was simply immune to the security organ's sexual ploys.

  Since late 1943, Sergo’s operation has been right behind the German, U.S. and British research and development efforts in six main areas: jet engines, rockets, heavy bombers, radar, munitions guidance systems and high-octane fuel. He saw early the need for each of these particular elements. He let the other nations spend the time and money to do the research and testing, then used their data and waited for the triumphs. Beria's remarkable spy-network brought him the information that he needed, which made matters easier in stealing and improving upon the ideas of others at a prodigious rate. Then, he set his minions on their paths.

  Along the way he had to find people to delve into metallurgy, organic chemistry, physics, and so forth to help close the deficiencies in Soviet technology. 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 with potential. 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 the foremost minds miraculously still alive after the purges, to teach promising prisoners.

  Sergo started parallel programs to the German, British and American efforts. Beria’s intelligence machine fed Sergo's operation new data and documents, all of which was used to its fullest advantage. Great strides had been made in the development of what were essentially copies of the German, British and even American jet engines. Georgy had heard that Beria had a spy, William Mutterperl, who was on the design team of the Yankees jet fighter.[xxxvii] As a consequence of these efforts in replicating and improving the work of their former allies and enemies the Soviet war machine was now only three to four months behind in these critical areas.

  In a few areas, they were ahead, but only because of Sergo’s emphasis and insistence. The ground-to-air missile system was such an example. The Germans started to develop, even produce, the Wasserfal ground-to-air missile in 1943 when Hitler stopped their research and production to concentrate on the V-2. Sergo saw the promise that Albert Speer saw in the Wasserfal and continued unabated, with its development.

  Georgy was responsible for seeing that his unseen master’s wishes came to fruition and he was extremely good at it. Right now high-octane aviation gas was being produced to keep the VVS fighters competitive with NATO's aircraft. During the first month of the war they had to use hoarded stocks of Lend-Lease fuel but now, their own production had reached acceptable and sustainable levels. It is interesting to note that Russians had been leaders in organic chemistry since the 1890's, when Vladimir Shukhov first “cracked” oil. [xxxviii]

  A former student of Shukhov had defected to the U.S. in 1930, but the secrets he took with him came from the U.S.S.R. The defector named Vladimir Ipatieff was given credit for finding an economical way to create high-octane gas in 1930, for the capitalist warmongers, and 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 reproduced his process. Now, high-octane aviation gas was being stockpiled, for future use.

  Another example would be when the MiG Design Bureau became aware of the German Focke-Wulf Ta-183 project in 1944, and emulating the parallel research process that Sergo had pioneered for copying and improving others' designs, they began work on what would eventually become the MiG-15. This groundbreaking jet fighter could be operational as soon as May, 1947. It was a frightening prospect for any future U.S. bombing attempts.

  The jet engine that would be paired with MiG-15 was, itself, a product of this parallel research 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 clearly not love.

  Sergo had tried to convince Stalin that the B-29 program should be emulated, as well, but he remained unconvinced. 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 B-29. 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 long-suffering people, who paid for the actions of the West. This time, things would be different.

  Georgy was a vital part of this undertaking. Georgy was something of a prodigy, in his own right. He was a fixer, a facilitator, and could scrounge for anything. He also had an uncanny ability to strong-arm 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. Georgy produced results. Together, they made a very strange, but highly-effective, cabal; a cabal that Josef Stalin seemed to be comfortable with...at least, for the moment.

  Prototype MiG 15 Based on the German TA 183

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Further Preparations

  Soviet Lend Lease B-25 J “Bank”

  ***

  The Soviets have had 6 months to prepare for this war. Six months of peace time and six months of unfettered access to the world’s military and industrial secrets. They have put this time to good use.

  ***

  Protect and Serve

  The Tu-2 medium bomber, named Zaichik, was being buffeted by the prop-wash of the B-25 that it was keeping close formation with. The pilot and co-pilot fought with the controls. They would normally have given the bigger bomber a much wider berth, but the whole point of this practice was to get as many medium bombers and fighters tucked in and stacked above the Lend-Lease B-25J as possible.

  Everyone had been told that the B-25 had a magic box inside of it that would ward off some electric antiaircraft round that could feel their plane and explode, when it got enough close to your aircraft. These Yankee cannon shells did not even have to hit you to explode, but had some kind of built-in electronic sensing device called the VT fuse. He had no idea what VT stood for, but the electronic machine in the B-25 was supposed to keep the antiaircraft shell from killing them, by tricking the fuse into go off before it should. They joked that it better be a long a very long distance away to work.

  The magic box only had a limited range though, so you had to fit as many planes as close as you could, above the bigger American bomber, as the shells would “feel” the magic box, and explode below. The pilot hoped far below. Bombers in the VVS were not used to flying in tight formation, so there had been some crashes, but hours and hours of practice were paying off. He didn’t know how long their new-found discipline would last, once they started falling out of the sky. They were told to be like a school of fish if one falls you tighten up and get in closer. Easy for them to say, sitting behind their big desks, back in Paris.

  He wished he was flying the B-25, but that was for Vlad, and not him. All his friend Vlad had to do was to fly the route to, and from, the target. He didn’t have to worry about crashing into other planes. They had to worry about crashing into him. They were told that if they crashed into the B-25, their families would be killed, and no one wanted that. Yet, the tighter you could get in formation to the big bomber, the better your chances, and the chances of your friends, were, against the American antiaircraft shells.

  ***

  Unlike many of his colleag
ues in the French Resistance our protagonist in this vignette was not a Communist and he was anxious to rid France of them.

  ***

  Just Like Old Times

  The thundering sound of the box of planes made a noise he hadn’t heard in well over a year. Not since the Allies changed the route that their raids took in 1945 had he heard the sound of five-hundred or more pairs of aircraft engines droning on towards their destination. The Soviet engines have a higher pitch to them and a little background whining noise that was noticeably different from the engines of the big B-17's and Lancasters of the Yanks and Brits. They also flew noticeably lower and were much smaller aircraft.

  They definitely seemed to be faster, but that could be because they were closer going overhead. The thing that actually got his attention was the unusual formation. They seemed to be clustered as close as possible to what looked like a bigger bomber. He thought it looked like an American B-25. The fact that the B-25 looked bigger gave him some perspective on how much smaller the other bombers were compared to the B-17. It was as if they expected the B-25 to protect them from harm.

  He would have to figure out a way to get a hold of his contact Philippe. Perhaps what he was seeing would be of some interest to someone in England. From what he was hearing the Soviets were about to attack once again. He did not want his centuries-old enemy and recent ally to be harmed. It was comforting to know that if things got too bad he and his family could possibly get across the channel and join his cousin in exile. He had endured the boche, but he did not know about les Russkoffs. They were a different animal. At least with the boche you knew exactly where you stood and could play up to their sense of superiority. With les Russkoffs, you didn’t know where you stood. Plus their language, and even their body language, was so very different. Even the way they laughed was more sinister than that of les salles boche. Perhaps it was just a matter of familiarity. Whatever it was he was going to help the devil he knew, rather than the one from the East.