World War Three 1946 Series Boxed Set: Stalin Strikes First

by Harry Kellogg

  Dunellen tried something new this time he came back to the airfield with a third of a tank. He pretended that he was getting ready to land and waited for the Tu2 Bat to lumber on to his tail then he gunned it and turned inside the medium bomber and caught him with a deflection shot from his 20mm cannons. The bomber went down in a satisfying fireball. But he then found himself low and slow with three Yak 9s were on him like white on rice.

  Dunellen was good. You don’t get to be a double ace in a ten day period if you aren’t good. He kept the Yaks at bay for another 10 minutes. Twisting and turning, dipping and weaving even a few barrel rolls. No one did barrel rolls anymore so maybe that’s why they worked.

  He knew if he flew straight for even a few seconds he was dead. All the twisting and turning made it impossible for him to gain altitude and to use the superior straight line speed his Spit possessed. While fighting for his life he saw his precious fuel being burned at a prodigious rate. He could even feel it. His plane became more responsive the lighter it got. The lighter it got the closer he was to death. Then the first cough happened.

  It happened on a hard turn to the right. It was a real tight turn and almost caused him to black out. He would have got the Yak 9 with the 14 little swastikas on the side if he had been able to stay in the turn but the Yak’s wingman was doing his job and he had to break off the turn. The wingman’s 20mm cannon round took off the tip of his right wing. No harm no foul at this height. If his opponents had been Yak 3s he would have not made it this far. The Yak 3 could outturn even a Spitfire. Against the Yak 9 the best pilot would have won. Against 3 Yak 9s all bets were off.

  Then his engine coughed again and this time he was not in a tight turn. But he had to turn to avoid the tracers coming from the Russian aces plane. His luck ran out and his skill could no longer defy physics. The air flow over his laminar flow wings could no longer create the lift needed to keep the 2400 odd kilograms of aluminum in the air. In the last seconds of his life just before the Spitfire hit the ground and exploded something caught his eye for a moment.

  It was a very little boy standing among some wreckage calmly waving at him. He had no pants on and looked like he had never been washed. Time froze as they stared at each other for a fleeting moment. Their eyes locked and he though, what was a little boy doing here surrounded by all this death? It made him think of his own family. Dunnellon’s last thought was of his new born daughter’s smile. Not a bad thought to die on.

  Where's Mum

  The boy watched the sky in awe. He was mesmerized by the swirling machines with winking lights in their nose and wings. When they came close to the ground and the flashes came from the wings there would be little explosions on the ground ahead of the plane, little explosions that where linked back to the plane by fiery trails. It was wonderful to watch and he was enthralled. He had been doing it for days between finding food to eat and sleeping. The area he was in seemed to be teaming with planes whirling and turning after each other and occasionally crashing with great noise and fireworks. It was wonderful…just wonderful and thrilling to his 3 year old eyes.

  He really missed his Mum and never knew his dad. Just the men his Mum would bring home. Many of them were nice and if they were not Mum would make them leave. They brought him treats and that was nice.

  At first the noisy crashes were scary but now he looked forward to them. A few had happened very close and one has sent noisy pieces of the plane spinning around him. He was nicked once by a small piece and had cried when he saw the blood. He really missed Mum then and had cried for a long time. He has no idea of time and as long as he had water and could still find the food that was in the building close by all he could do was to play by himself and watch the wonderful show going on all around him.

  If he could count he would have known that he has seen 12 planes crash within a mile of where he was. 12 brave pilots much like the men who had visited his mother had died as his mother had died. Her body had saved his life as well as almost taken it. It had taken him quite a while to finally wiggle his way out from under her protective form. Once he had done that he could wander around and find the food and water his body craved.

  He had long since taken off his pants and went poopoo and peepee wherever he wanted. His poop hole was kind of sore but not always painful and he could forget how much it hurt when he watched the planes.

  The big guns on the ground that used to shoot at the planes had been silent for days now. The planes with the red markings had dropped things on them and used their winking wings to make them explode in awe inspiring explosions. Sometimes after the explosions men cried out, some far into the night. Curious he went over to what was once a man, but was now a smoking pile with a head and eyes. The mouth had stopped making a wailing noise and the eyes had looked at him in wonder as it tried to detach what might have been an arm and hand to touch him. Then it collapsed in a pile like his Mum, and stopped moving…they always stopped moving.

  The fiery smears of flames that engulfed large areas, were his favorite. His hearing had been severely damaged but he could still hear them when they spread their beautiful warmth and fire filled clouds over huge areas that once contained men. These flame clouds had kept him warm enough during the night. They set things on fire and he would stand or lie near them far into the night. It was cold at night.

  A couple of times men had tried to come to him but had been damaged and cut down by the circling planes and their winking wings. After a while no one seemed to care and he was alone in his playground of smoke, flames, explosions and the dead.

  He could not go near his Mum any more. She had started to stink and then an explosion had taken her away. She had peed and pooped in her clothes while he was under her and he had asked her why she could do that without getting put in a corner when he could not, but she had not answered. Her eyes eventually turned dead and her body cold and he knew he had to leave her. He was very thirsty and hungry when he had finally wiggled out from under her.

  He guessed he was a big boy now. He remembered the other big boys in his neighborhood could run around all day without their moms always keeping watch over them. His Mum did not watch over him anymore so he must be a big boy. He cried every so often and wished she was here to watch over him again. He did not like being a big boy all the time. He missed her. He missed her so much.

  No one would ever know why he and his mom were there near the airfield. In years to come when they excavated the grave site they were shocked to find the remains of such a small child. He had only 6 more hours to live but he did not know that and was getting excited as another bunch of whirling planes caught his eye and he watched in fascination as three of the red marked planes tried to stay on the tail of the green plane with the circles on its wings. He knew they were circles. His Mum had taught him that.

  Just before the green plane crashed into the ground it came very close to him and he saw the pilots face staring in wonder at him as he waved. He had a nice face. He wished that he was his father. The last six hours and 3 minutes of his life were like the last 3 days or so. He ate some food, played with some interesting pieces of metal, went to the puddle and drank some water, cried a few times in loneliness and then wandered into an area he had never been before. He fell into a large pit and never regained consciousness. That’s where all the other bodies were eventually put in temporary graves. His mother and the pilot of the plane that he waved at were put in the pit as well. One small pile of what was humanity waiting to be discovered and separated into still other holes in the ground. As we all know they are just bodies and not the real person.

  His body was never identified and his remains were placed in an unmarked grave. There should have been no one to even remember his name or that he have once existed. Yet there was one. A secretary who had helped deliver him when she had heard his mother crying next door. Out he came before the doctor could get there. It was all she could to hang on to him he cried so loudly. She was going through some old records and getting ready to stor
e them when she remembered the little boy being born to that young girl. Pretty hard to forget that. He had such a smile. Most newborns don’t smile. He did from the get go. She was sure that she would see him in the films. His smile was so dazzling even as a newborn.

  His name was Jeremy. He stood out so vividly in her mind. She was 7 months pregnant and just then decided to name her baby Jeremy if it was a boy. Jeremy Beadle…now that had a nice ring to it.

  The Boy

  Bill couldn't believe his eyes. What was a little kid doing out here. For God’s sake this is crazy. Where’s his mother.

  “Stop watching that child Bill and concentrate on your loading mate.”

  “But Charlie he’s all alone…he’s crying and wounded. We have to help him! He’s going to die out there, we have to do something.”

  “For Christ sake keep loading or we’re all dead including the boy!”

  “There has to be something we can do…look at him he’s bleeding…he’s hurt and scared. He’s terrified we have to do something. We just have…”

  “We’re out! Bloody hell we’re out! Alright let’s go then… we aren’t doing any good with an empty gun. Let’s go.”

  Charlie is cut in two before Bill’s eyes and he just stares uncomprehending and then turns and jumps the gun emplacement sand bag wall and starts to sprint towards the boy. All he can think of is getting to him and bringing him to safety. He hears the sound of the engine and knows that a Sturmovik is coming in for a run at his former gun emplacement. He even hears the click of the bomb being released. A wave of heat washes over him but he is on the edge of the napalms impact zone and only his legs beneath his knees are engulfed in searing pain. He is knocked down and tries to get up but his lower legs are missing and then the pain hits. The second Sturmovik’s run splashes him with napalm again.

  Splashes is probably not the right term for something that is a liquid flame that does incredible damage to the human body and soul of those who witness it and those who inflict it on others. This little splash, for wont of a better word, of this viscous, liquid flame hits his upper torso as he is struggling to remove his helmet. When the splash of napalm hits it is splashed further and lands on just a couple of patches on his left and right side. He drops his arms and they become welded to his body. This douses the flame but not before his arms are pinned. He finally starts to scream. He screams for what seems like hours and then something gets through the pain. Something cuts right though his agony. It is the little boy and he is standing by him and watching him.

  He tries to detach his right arm from his body and rips a pound of flesh from his side. He is so intent on reaching the boy that he feels nothing. He reaches out but then his muscles fail him. They become detached from their bony anchor and finally the pain becomes too much and shock sets in. He collapses and he dies staring at the little boy who in turn is staring at him.

  Tape Recordings from Great Britain #23

  Believed to be produced near the end of September in 1946 in the north of Britain.

  The reel to reel tape hisses as you listen to the playback. The voices sound like they are coming from the bottom of a well. There is a slight echo in the room used for the interview. There are over a hundred of these interviews still surviving. The identity of the interviewer has not been accurately determined as yet.

  “Test…test…

  Thank you for speaking with us Mr. Mudd.”

  “Well you asked me too didn't yea.”

  “Let’s get to it then… “

  “Where you involved in the fighting this month?”

  “Why of course I was. Why are we doing this taping if I wasn't?”

  “What was the closest you came to dying during the third war?”

  “Come-on now Brian you know very well where it was. You were there too.”

  “This is supposed to be like an interview Bob. You have to pretend you don’t know me…”

  “Oh alright then…I was driving a lorry with you…er my mate Brian. We had planned to make two runs that day to Coventry carrying petrol in the lorry, one during the day and one during the night. We figured the Reds had run their course and after taking out the near-by airfields they wouldn’t be roaming around anymore. Then we heard it.”

  “What was that you heard?”

  “One of them twin engine jobs. The ones that should have been shot out of the sky and not roaming around free as you please. We had just stopped and lit up a fag away from the truck. You don’t want to be smoking in a petrol lorry you see. Anyway we heard it pretty far off. You get to know the sound of your enemy pretty quickly. I was going to get back to the lorry and move it under some trees when the bastard spotted us and bore right in without a care in the world. He didn’t even use the rockets he had under his wings he just casually shot the lorry to pieces and lite it on fire. A couple of explosions later and “Bob’s your uncle” the lorry was gone along with our means of employment.”

  “Were you hurt?”

  “Not at all and neither was you. I mean… no we had gotten away from the petrol when we saw him lining up on us and dove for cover. He wasn’t interested in us…just the petrol and he got it all. I guess this is how the Jerrys must have felt near the end when they didn’t have any more planes to protect them and the Yanks and our boys just roamed free shooting up anything that was moving during the day. I guess what that tells us is that we are in a similar situation after a month of these attacks. Imagine they have enough planes to roam around even in areas that they have already shot up. Enough planes to just go where you will and shoot up anything on the ground worth the bullets. Now I know how the Germans felt near the end.”

  “And how was that.”

  “They must have felt kind of hopeless. Kind of like it’s getting near time to quit and end this. That we’re defenseless…utterly defenseless.”

  “Is that how you feel?”

  “Turn it off now will yeah Brian. I’m done talking for now.”

  “Sure thing Bob…sure thing.”

  Hap

  General "Hap" Arnold paced around the room. All eyes were glued to his unwavering pace as he strode from one side of the room to the other then abruptly turned and headed back to the other wall. He had not been feeling well but this new challenge seemed to invigorate him. He was thinking just before his staff came with the latest news about the Second Battle of Britain. One more job to do before I retire, was his general thought pattern. He was day dreaming about that retirement when they knocked on the door of his office. It was a nice office but not too ornate. Nothing like Ike's .

  The news he had been given was going to require an immediate decision. One that could win or lose this newest war. Well that's why they paid him the big bucks as he overheard someone say a while ago. Kenney was nominally in-charge of SAC but he was the one who had to deal with this information and he was the one who had to tell Kenny to start the countdown or not.

  Much like Ike's D-Day decision this one would probably win or lose the war. He had none of Ike's negotiating powers or even a modicum of political savvy. He just got the job done. That's why he supposed he survived several career destroying episodes concerning his unwavering support for Billy Mitchell, his being labeled a drunkard and his run ins with Morgenthau and by extension Roosevelt himself. Somehow his talents always won him a second/third and even forth chance.

  The news he had to act on consisted of three reports. One: stating that the RAF was on its last week or two of existence. Two: the VVS has committed all the planes they were going to commit to their attack on Britain and the odds will never be greater for success in attacking the Soviet Bear where it counted. Three: General Kenny reported that he could be minimally operational in 7 days and could in theory carry out the attacks that SAC was designed to accomplish.

  Minimally operational...what the hell did that mean? Kenney had been so brilliant in the Pacific. Was this new concept beyond his reach? Was he too tactically orientated? Had he been elevated beyond his abilities? Too god
damn late to change horses in midstream now. LeMay would have been the better choice but you had to go with the horse you rode in on or some such lame excuse. It really was too late to change commandeers. Wait that was not the correct word.

  All of these thoughts were rampaging through his brain when things started to get all jumbled up. He couldn't think straight. All he could do was to keep pacing back and forth even that was getting more and more difficult. SHIT! he was having another heart attack or stroke. Shit!...what was he thinking so hard about...why was he walking back and forth? Who were these people and why were they looking at him? Why couldn't he move his left arm. Oh hell here it came… THE PAIN the all too familiar PAIN! He had to fight through this and make some kind of decision...but what about. It was all he could do to keep from falling down.

  "Hap...you okay?! JEESUS SOMEONE CALL THE DOC!"

  Henry Harvey Arnold hit the ground with a sickening thud. His head bounced off the floor and a red stain started to form almost immediately. This alone probably would have killed him but he was dead even before he hit the ground.

  Spaatz

  It was late in the day and hot in the office. General Spaatz was actually nodding off when he heard a commotion coming from down the hall. He was stunned and shocked and couldn't actually move for a full minute when he was told about Hap. He knew about the other heart attacks, but he had no idea that Hap was so close to death, so fragile. The possibility that Hap would die suddenly never seriously entered his mind. He figured that after this latest dust up that Hap would retire, and he would be the most likely candidate to take his place, but this was way too soon to comprehend. It would take him a few days to come to grips with the reality that his friend was dead. Yet he did not have a few days.