World War Three 1946 Series Boxed Set: Stalin Strikes First

by Harry Kellogg

  He had to focus and convinced Ivan that while he slept he had to keep his guard up and keep everyone safe and not to let anyone open or even try to open the cellar doors even a crack. If any of that sand got in it could kill them all. Ivan seemed convinced. He had been awake guarding and arguing with the others for over 24 hours and just had to close his eyes. Just for a second.

  In what seemed like a blink of an eyelash he was awakened by a shaft of light and a puff of air. He opened his eyes in horror as he sat up. He saw the sand and dust swirl around in the shaft of sunlight that fill the confined space as Ivan threw open the doors even wider. He reached for his revolver and made sure he had a bullet for each of his children, his wife and himself. Ivan and the others were not his concern anymore.

  One Lucky SOB

  Henry “Hank” Gardner heard someone swearing but it sounded like he was muffled. It turned out to be him. He kept shouting “what the fuck” over and over again. That is until he woke up and he knew he was in deep trouble. He was swinging from a USAAF parachute with some kind of mask on him and a small heavy bottle hitting him in the nuts.

  He was having trouble making his left side work, anything on his left side, arm, leg, eye or even his hearing. It’s surprisingly hard to function with only one eye. Your perception is all screwed up initially.

  As he took stock he started to remember how he got here. He was aboard a bomber; one of those big ones…and there was an explosion and…someone pushed him out of the plane! Holy crap was he scared. He was a chicken shit anyway and had figured out a way to strap a portable emergency oxygen system to his body and it was now saving his life and hitting him in the aforementioned nuts.

  He was a scientist, what the hell was he being pushed out of a plane for! As the events of what he figured were the last 5 minutes came back to him, he suddenly realized he could not remember his own name! He did remember seeing a piece of metal blowing around with a name on it kind of following him as he fell. The damn thing hit him just as he pulled the ring that was supposed to make the chute work. I guess it worked because here I am. Was his name Finnegan? No, that was the name painted on the piece of metal that hit him. Until he can think more clearly, Finnegan it is. I must have hit my head.

  Well… I’m over land and not water. Let’s see we were on our way to Grozny to do some kind of experiment. Something to do with a high altitude wind.

  His right ear catches a droning noise and as he scans around he catches sight of another giant silver bomber flying a few thousand feet off to the right almost overhead. Shit its bomb bay door is open. I thought they had multiple doors? Now that is a bomb! Look at the size of the thing will yah. Amazing and there it goes… Someone is in for a world of hurt that thing is huge.

  Wait, wait, oh God no! Its numerical …nucleotide …asthma… some kind of bad bomb and it’s going to kill me as well. What the hell do I do? Curl up in a ball! Can you steer this parachute? I know I’ll just cut the harness and drop and take my chances.

  He starts fishing for a knife with his right arm and hand all the time watching the bomb fall through the air. It fascinates him the way it cuts through the air. That’s what I was supposed to study! How this thing fell through the air and what happens when it hits some kind of wind.

  Just then the said wind hit him. He felt it first as his feet and legs were pulled sideways and then he was almost pulled out of his harness and swept sideways at an incredible speed away from the path of the monstrous bomb. He had no idea how fast he was going but he was flying behind his chute like a toy gone berserk. He kept going for what seemed like forever when behind him he sensed an incredibly bright light rather than saw it. It lit up his parachute and then a few seconds later a pressure wave hit along with a searing hot wind faster than the wind he was being carried by. This whole combination of fast moving air increased his speed tremendously but since he was traveling at essentially the same speed as the first wind it didn’t tear him or the parachute into shreds.

  He went on like this for quite a while when all of a sudden he fell far enough towards the ground that he dropped out of the fast moving wind and then was sent in the other direction by a fairly quick wind. Down and down he fell all the time trying to remember his real name and his family…if he had one, anyone on the plane…anything that he could grab a hold of. Every once in a while he would swing around and wonder at the ever expanding mushroom cloud. Something about “I am the destroyer of worlds” kept repeating itself in his head. It looked like he was going to land in the foothills of the mountains that were now above him. Looking down on him like he was some kind of bug that had briefly visited their lofty world and now was back where he belonged.

  He kept feeling weaker and weaker. Probably bleeding to death, he thought. No it’s the air bottle, it’s empty. Well not a bad way to go he thought. Finally he just couldn’t fight it anymore and fainted.

  The next thing he knew he was alone with a foul smelling pile of blankets and hides on top of him. Someone was with him, lying next to him and holding her hand over his mouth. He heard strange, guttural, male voices, obviously shouting orders. He decided to play along and wait to see what the hell was going on. If they were going to kill him they would have done so when he was out. After about 20 minutes of going in and out of consciousness the pile of blankets and furs where lifted off him and he stared into the most beautiful set of eyes he had ever seen. They were blue green with a slight tilt, almond shaped and so clear you could see your soul in them.

  He ended up marrying those eyes but that story will have to wait.

  He 162 Stalin's Dart

  "The day had begun for me as any other since my assignment here in Grozny. We were testing a new People's Fighter based on the German He 162 Sparrow. The official line was that it was designed by Yak but we could still see the swastikas under the new paint of some of our test models. It was a great little plane to fly. The fastest in the air up to now, I believe. It had the ability to climb quickly up to 12,000 meters. My beauty was based on the 162 B-1 expended range version that the Germans proposed but never built. As you know it was renamed Stalin's Dart. This model was indeed a creation of Soviet hands.

  The takeoff was uneventful. As I was climbing to altitude I received a radio transmission that radar (such as it was down here in Grozny) had picked up 3 large echoes with one trailing behind by 30 minutes and I was to investigate. The height was estimated at 11,000 meters. They gave me the compass heading and I throttled back to conserve fuel. As is said the Dart is a fine plane to fly. Being short of stature I was very comfortable in its cockpit…”

  Yegor stopped and stared at the wall for a few seconds and then began again.

  “I have repeated the same thing for four hours now. We must stop. I need a respite and I resent being treated like this."

  Yegor Kasyanov was indeed being treated like a common criminal. He was seated in a very uncomfortable chair with a light shining in his eyes in a room where you confess whether you did it or not. The room and its decor screamed torture and confession with its grey cement walls and cold heavy air. It was underground so the feeling of being buried alive was unmistakable.

  Why was he here? Because he had done his duty and shot down a capitalist pig terror bomber just after it dropped a large bomb in the area of Grozny.

  "Once more from the beginning Yegor, if you please."

  "Comrade I protest. All I did was my duty and now I am being treated like a prisoner. Please I cannot stand confined spaces and the thought of being underground is torture to me. Can we not finish this above ground at least?"

  "Yegor you are a hero of the Motherland for what you did. It was an amazing feat. This place we are in is the only thing keeping us alive for now. Another Amerikosi terror bomber has dropped an atomic bomb upwind from us and the poison is spreading this way. You will sicken and die if you go into the open. Now please one more time so we can advise other brave pilots like you on how to destroy these so called Superfortresses with the new jet plane, Stal
in’s Dart. I'll make a concession. Tell the story one more time and we will move you into the commissar’s office where you can stretch out and sleep a little. You have earned a good night's sleep for all you have done."

  "Somehow I don't feel I have a choice comrade.” He mutters as he begins again.

  “I was vectored in to the radar blips and saw them at great range. They were huge and all silver, like they didn't have a care in the world, and could just go where they wanted with no concern for staying hidden. This for some reason made me angry. Who the hell did they think they were? Did they really think that they could just go wherever they pleased, and drop bombs like we did not have the ability to even harass them? I was determined to show them what my Stalin's Dart could do and what lengths the others that follow me would go to as well.

  My initial mission was to test out the twin 30 mm guns so my ammunition was supply was full. As I neared the lead bomber in the V formation shot at me at far too long a range and I determined that they were still using 50 caliber machine guns that the Amerikosi love so much. My 30 mm could outranged them easily. Before I could get into firing position the lead bomber dropped a huge bomb and then veered to the right. The other two kept on flying straight.

  I was white hot with anger. I had failed and now 10s of thousands of men women and children were going to die agonizing deaths. Somehow in my rage I reasoned that the bomber that dropped its bomb was not a threat anymore. It was the other two that still had missions and I would stop them no matter what it took.

  I lined up on the left bomber and shot it out of the sky with a single burst. The 30 mm rounds just ripped it apart and the crew never stood a chance. It disintegrated in midair. When facing the right weapon, being flown by the right man, these bombers were no better than any other and were destroyed just as easily. I maneuvered to get a shot at the third when my fuel ran out. No warning my engine just quit. I tried to keep the nose up to ram my target but physics won and I plunged towards the earth unable to do my duty any longer.

  I was pounding the inside of my plane in fury as I helplessly glided back to base. Since I was going back the way I had come I caught a glimpse of the fourth bomber that was about 20 minutes behind the first three. At any moment I expected to be blown to bits by the first bomb that was dropped but nothing happened. I was relieved and now doubly frustrated thinking that the last bomber was the real threat after all. After a few minutes I could not help but think that maybe we had been spared and concentrated on landing and flying another day to prevent the unthinkable from happening. Maybe the plane I shot down was the one with the bomb after all. They all were the special models we were taught to concentrate on so there was no way to tell. They all were missing their turrets and that was how we knew how to tell the ones with the atomic bombs from the ordinary bombers.

  Just as I was getting close to the start of my landing and was about to call the tower, there was a blinding light. I happened to be looking down and was going away from the blast wave when it hit. My wings came off immediately and somehow before I passed out I hit the eject lever the next thing I knew was when I woke up in the infirmary under guard and far underground.”

  “You have done enough for today comrade. Now let’s kick that fat ass commissar out of his office so you can get a good night’s sleep.”

  “I believe sleep will elude me for a long time Maior. I blame myself for not doing enough and not getting their fast enough to prevent what has happened. How many are dead? How bad is it comrade…how bad is it…?”

  Yegor collapsed into his hands weeping like a man possessed, which of course, he was, and would be from that day forward. He would never be the same again and would never fly again. He will not spend another waking moment being normal. He will relive this day and his choices, be they right or wrong, until the day he dies. In his mind he made the wrong choice and thousands died and he will ever see their faces in the night.

  Stalin’s Dart modeled after the German He 162 Salamader

  We lost One

  SAC HQ

  Outside of Cairo

  Oct. 2nd, 1946

  “Who was it?”

  “Finnegan.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  “From the descriptions we got it was a Soviet version of the He 162.”

  “Refresh my memory.”

  “It’s a late war jet supposedly made for the Hitler youth to fly against our bombers. Single engine job made out of plywood. I gave you that report on it when that British pilot ran one into the ground when the tail came unglued.”

  “That’s right. The other pilot who flew it the most said it was a great plane but just needed better glue. What a thing to lose your life to. What are the performance specifications?”

  “Let’s see…I had it right here…Hey Jenkins do you have…ah, found it. So top speed of 559 mph, range of 600 miles, small only 23.7 foot wingspan, 30 foot long and weighs only 3660 lbs. It was fired by a BMW 003 but who knows what the Reds have put into it. It probably had 2 30mm cannons from the way the witnesses were talking. Pretty much tore Finnegan’s Wake in two with only a few hits.”

  “Jesus”

  “You said it. Rate of climb is 4615 feet per minute and ceiling 39400. The one described appears to be the planned D model so it should have greater range.”

  “Shit! How did they get there so fast and how did they know we were coming? GOD DAMN IT, heads will roll if someone screwed up.”

  “Sir…if I may? It was only one plane. It appears to be a fluke, some guy on a training run. We have no increase in radar or electronic traffic. They must have had a training or research facility close by and the guy just got lucky. The others all got through without a hitch and the plane he shot down was the backup. Half of Baku is toast.”

  LeMay almost chewed his cigar in half while he thought. He was pacing around the room deep in thought.

  “Okay here’s how it’s going to go. We hit them hard every day until they stop us. Push the number of ready aircraft. We need bigger raids than we initially planned and we need them starting tomorrow. We have to hit them as hard as we can until they get enough of those jets, missiles and whatever else they come up with. Today’s missions took out 50% of their oil production I want 5% more every day until they either stop us or we bring it to zero and keep it there. Get Higgins in here and setup a meeting in 15 minutes to work on the increase in tempo. I have a feeling we have a short window and we have to do it now or the war is lost.”

  “Yes Sir!”

  LeMay reaches over and picks up a field telephone.

  “Get me Warren, NOW!”

  He fumes as he has to wait a full 30 seconds.

  “Warren get your ass in here and tell me how we are going to increase our sortie rate from projected by 25% starting tomorrow…that’s right tomorrow! Time is of the essence. Bring whoever you need to get the job done.”

  He hangs up.

  “Connors get me that Navy guy. We’re going to need a whole shit load more of supplies within days…not weeks, days.”

  “Billings, telegraph Arnold…er wait I mean Spaatz and tell him we are increasing our sortie rate and to expect more casualties in the short run. Did you send the report on the raid so far?... Did you mention the loss of the Finnegan’s Wake?... Good so he knows what is happening and why. Add that a full report will follow in 2 hours then start producing the report.”

  He hangs up and searches for someone else to assign a task to.

  Chapter Twenty:

  Unconventional Warfare

  La 7R with rocket booster

  ***

  Just an illustration of how a mad man’s mind works

  ***

  Babushka

  Stalin was raging inside. His mind was reeling with the possibilities of this calamity. Where had they come from? Where were their bases? They must be sought out and destroyed. This was why we attacked Britain so they could not attack the motherland and now they had unleashed their atomic bombs on our homeland. That was w
hat this whole war was about. It was to prevent them from ever attacking us again. They were supposed to be regulated to attacking the buffer zone of Europe. They were supposed to have to lay waste to the old capitalist and fascist capitals and spend their wealth raining terror on their former allies. Beria had failed him and now he was going to have to hoard his oil. He was going to have to rein in his armies and air force over Britain. He had one chance to stop more bombs from falling and that was to find the bases and expand the buffer zone even further.

  Novikov hadn’t officially reported but from other sources he had learned that the bombers had come from Egypt. So Egypt is where the army will go. The Red Army always ended up saving the Motherland. Yes the other arms of the military supported but the army was his key on the Eurasian continent.

  Oil the lifeblood and curse of modern war and empires. Japan and Germany had died because they were bled to death. A death of a thousand cuts. The Americans had just opened a gaping wound in his supply chain.

  America had triumphed only because it had oil in abundance. He had it in abundance until yesterday. Luckily it was still there. It was just under a cap of melted and poisoned earth. The die was cast he had to invade the oil fields of the British in Iran and take the bases in Turkey and Egypt. He would have to use the last of his stockpile of oil to accomplish this overarching goal. They would have to dig in on the Pyrenees Line and curtail his attacks on Britain until the matter of oil was solved. Moving on Iran solved two problems it starved the British and provided him with a new supply. Taking Egypt would close off the Eastern Mediterranean and finally free the motherland from attack.

  At least until the cursed capitalist pigs developed some new weapon of nightmares. The only answer was to be as innovative in the arms race that was developing. Beria and his spies had kept them informed and Sergo produced for the Soviets what Western Europe invented. Sergo’s program of educating and developing talent was bearing fruit every day. With the assets of Western Europe now at this disposal he was confident it could be done.