If you are trying to collide with a target it didn’t matter so much; in fact if you were practiced, it was the only way to miss the wings and hit the tail area. Once past the wing a quick flick and you could hit the aileron with the heavily reinforced wing root of the La 7 Fin in a slicing maneuver that the Fin should win 9 times out of ten. And Boris’s squadron did. They got 9 hits with 8 outright kills and that Tartan surviving. There was another slow-motion death of a bomber and an outright miss with an easy kill for a trailing P-80 on the 10th member of the squadron.
Boris got his fourth ramming kill with an absolutely perfect strike on the Winnie May that barely damaged his wings. His prop was gone but he could glide with ease towards a possible landing in some farmer’s field. Six of the other Tartans fared well, with three going down with their intended victims. All were able to get out of their damaged planes and complete their trip to earth beneath a stark white canopy of silk and destined to fly again. Nikolai Zelenko died as he bled out with a piece of the Milk Maids rudder in his neck.
The other Tartans took down another 14 bombers in twenty more semi controlled collisions and 7 Soviet pilots died along with 84 American crewmen in a matter of 2 minutes of utter chaos and horror for the bomber crews. The US had never seen this kind of attack in such a controlled and obviously choreographed manner. Some has seen the odd Kamikaze but never such an organized dance of death. It profoundly affected the thought processes of the surviving crews. This was of course, one of the main reasons to keep such a primitive form of attack in the Soviet arsenal and it was amply demonstrated here. This attack would stay in the minds of perhaps a thousand American flyers for the rest of their lives and profoundly affect every one of them forever. This was real war. No killing from afar, no shooting some machine out of the sky but physically ramming your opponent. This was personal, and this was how the Slav fought the Germans, Napoleon, the Golden Hoard and now the Americans.
Fill
Taran Near Miss
Perun
First it was the noise of the bombers engines that made everyone start to move a little faster. It was like a storm on the horizon. You could hear the distant thunder before you saw the clouds and felt the rain. Most of the ground crews had made it out of the kill zone and had started to spread out as ordered so as not to make an attractive mass target for the expected marauding Amerikosi jet fighters. They got out of their vehicles and started to move towards cover; ditches, trees, bushes, rocks but not buildings. Buildings were as much of a target as their vehicles and many had recalled enduring the same type of event that was about to befall them from the previous war only this time it was not the Stuka but something much faster and deadly.
Many had heard that the Yankee jet carried jellied gas called napalm and many had loaded their own IL10 Beasts with a similar substance. No, a building was not where you wanted to be during the coming storm. A storm made by man to kill other men. A storm of destruction only rivaled by the atomic bomb, earthquake and volcano. Some has seen the remains of Toulouse and a few has seen what had happened in Caen to the Germans. Hopefully they had gotten out in time because if they hadn’t they were dead men who were still breathing but only their last few breaths.
As the engine sounds grew louder and louder you can almost see the bomb bay doors opening and the great silver bombers start to disgorge their explosive filled metal jacketed pills into the sky. Each bomber was carrying forty 500 pound bombs and when they started to fall you could hear them. The men and women on the ground knew what was coming. Most had experienced some kind of massive barrage of high explosives either from German rockets or artillery and even some from bombs but all knew that this would be off the scale compared to those.
The first string of bombs hit a few seconds before the rest and must have been a mistake by an excited bombardier. It landed by happenstance in a grove of trees far from the intended target but right amongst a few of the crews that serviced the Tartan ramming squadrons killing three. And then all hell broke loose on the former airfield complex as 500 lb bomb after bomb after bomb after bomb started to explode in a rolling thunderstorm only rivaled by nature herself. It was one massive explosion that knocked anyone off their feet for miles around the affected area. A constant explosion as one gave way to another. Many of the ground crew went temporarily mad with some running around screaming at the top of their lungs.
One crewmen had gone back to retrieve a picture of his girl. All he could do is watch as the rolling barrage came towards him like something of out of a Cecil B. DeMille movie. A parting of the Red Sea as it were only with great gobs of earth, cement, buildings and a few trees mixed in with exploding gasoline and diesel fuel. By the time the bombs were 100 feet from him he was deaf and as he knelt to await his fate he was fascinated by all the flying debris; from the milk cow, they kept out back, to the replacement engine of a Pe-8 heavy bomber lifting into the sky and falling lazily down with in feet of him. Soon he was unconscious but not dead. He in fact would survive in an oasis of untouched earth caused by the premature release of those early bombs. Everything else was obliterated in an instant from fuel to songbirds flying overhead. 1 months’ worth of supplies for over 500 planes was destroyed in 15 minutes at both massive air complexes that were hastily constructed and completed just last week. Life truly is a game of inches at times.
Perun is the Slavic god of thunder and he was certainly there during the attack.[xc] He is described as a rugged man with a copper beard. He rides in a chariot pulled by a goat buck and carries a mighty axe, or sometimes a hammer. The axe is hurled at evil people and spirits and will always return to his hand and he was in his element today. Hammer blow after hammer blow rained down on the forgiving earth and opened up gaping wounds in the former grass covered airfields. The term moon scape comes to mind when viewing the results. Just a gray pockmarked desecrated piece of earth still burning in many places from many sources.
Countless craters swallowed the burning wrecks of planes, parts and much needed equipment. Tires burned in black cauldrons of fire belching smoke the covered the area for days. Wildlife ceased to exist as did flowers and trees. What was a massive well-kept area that could launch a thousand planes a day was now a churning, boiling scene of utter chaos and destruction.
A pocket watch fell to the ground and landed quite delicately on a piece of sod that was green side up. It had been flung in the air almost straight up and was blow higher by another series of explosions and traveled a few hundred feet from the tent it was left in. It lay there still ticking and marking time without a scratch on it. A curious souvenir someone would collect probably in a few hours. Inside the cover was a picture of a pretty girl taken circa 1940 or so. Neither the pretty girl nor the man who used to own it would ever see it again. It would disappear into a pawn shop in a few years and lay there for a few more before another young man would purchase it and put it in his pocket never knowing where it came from or the history of its former owner.
Such was the life of well-made precious things. Destined to be passed from person to person or even taken from a dead man’s hands. There was not even a scratch to reveal the living hell it had been through on that day in October 1946. Not one single scratch or dent. Just a small piece of grass in the spring of the front cover and no one would ever even find that piece of grass much less figure it was from one of the greatest carpet bombing raids in history.
A raid that destroyed 234 Soviet planes, a month’s worth of supplies and fuel, killed 89 grounds crew and almost got Novikov killed. The fact that Baku was not touched and that it was still producing a good amount of oil for another day is what saved him. The planes, parts, fuel and even grounds crew could be replaced fairly quickly if there was oil and there still was oil at least for another 6 months.
***
Why did I write about the watch you might ask? It’s because I have it in my collection. How did I know where it came from? Because the picture was of my sister and it was her husband’s watch. He died in that bombing
raid in 1946. Possibly you're thinking how long did it take for me to once again bring that watch back into the families possession.
***
The Eyes Have It
Something was happening to his eyes as they were getting cloudier by the moment, but before he started to lose his sight he had witnessed some horrible things. He was down in the root cellar when the shockwave hit and the screams started. He ran up the stairs and outside to see what was going on and witnessed a glowing sun where the east end of Baku had been. It was only a glance but that was enough and he ran down the stairs again blinded by what he had seen.
He cowered for hours in the dark and soon realized that he heard no sounds outside of his own breathing and tapping noises he was making. The outside world was almost completely quiet. He smelled burning flesh and petroleum products but the fires must have been far off for he did not hear the flames. And flames there surely must have been, for the miniature sun was so intense it gave him a sunburn in just the few seconds he experienced it.
He had not heard of atomic bombs and knew very little about even regular bombs. He had not even fired a gun. They were too poor for such things. Now goats…he knew a lot about goats…with goats he was an expert but not with suns he was ignorant of such things. All he really knew was that there was only supposed to be one sun and it was the giver of life. This other sun brought only death.
The fact that he had a shelter to run into was a foreign concept as well. He was used to sleeping outside and watching over the goats. He had just come into Baku for the wedding of his favorite nephew when the small sun exploded.
He was frightened like never before. Not even the day he faced down the great bear in that meadow in the mountains, compared to this. He understood the danger and the risk of that encounter but he did not know what the little sun would do to him.
If what was happening to his eyes was an example it was going to be horrible.
He ventured into the sunlight but could not see much for he was already going blind. He thought of the beggars in the streets of Baku and supposed he was going to become one. He became really worried when he saw that there was no Baku left. No nephew, no brother, no bride … but there was wine.
He had heard of people drinking themselves to death. How come you could drink gallons of wine and beer but not the same amount of water? The mind wanders when you are going blind he supposed. His religion forbade killing himself so he quickly turned his thoughts to survival. Imagine surviving in a world with two suns and he could not see either of them. God worked in strange ways and he hoped that he could join his nephew in eternal peace soon. In the meantime he knew that his trials and hardships had just begun, in this new world with two suns.
***
What follows is a meeting between Marshal Vershinin and Stalin secretly recorded by Stalin himself.
***
Why?
“Marshal Vershinin, do you know why you are here?”
“I have no idea Comrade.”
“Novikov and Beria have framed you in the debacle in Baku and the other oil production facilities…”
“But Excellency I had nothing to do with the failures, comrade. I was the one who fought against stripping our forces and…”
“Quiet Konstantin I know all this. You are in the right. You did all you could do. I know who is at fault but someone has to pay and Novikov and Beria are too valuable to sacrifice, at this time. You are not.”
“I don’t understand Excellency. What are you saying?”
“I’m going to have you arrested on various trumped up charges in one hour. You can save yourself the torture that surely awaits in Beria’s favorite chair or you can go back to your room and use that gun at your side. The fact that I am telling you this in person is testament to your devotion to the Soviet Union and the communist cause. The fact that I am giving you this opportunity to take matters into your own hands shows how much personal admiration I have for you but we must be practical Konstantin.”
“I am speechless Excellency.”
“As well you should be. Now go to your room and contact your family and then do what you must.”
“Yes Excellency. One question if I may…will my family be treated well?”
“Yes Konstantin they will have the best and your son will enter the service academy next year as planned. In time you will be exonerated and will be named a true hero of the Motherland and Beria and Novikov will visit the chair meant for you. But for now you must do what I have told you.”
“Yes Excellency…Thank you.”
“You are welcome Konstantin.”
The Bluff
Novikov is pale and breathing rapidly. He was having some kind of attack. He hopes it’s only a panic attack. Beria better have switched those files. It was his only hope. Stalin was sure to have him strangled if he found out his mistake and fixation with defeating the RAF and how it had led to the oil fields … the life blood of the Red Army and Air Force … being virtually unguarded. Those files made Vershinin look guilty. He supposed that he should be feeling guilty but all he was feeling was fear.
” Yes comrade, not one single bomb fell on Baku and repairs continue on the damaged caused by the atomic bombs. The other remaining facilities were not touched as well. The raid sent by the Amerikosi was turned back after slightly damaging our airfield infrastructure…”
Novikov is alone in his office and is in an almost complete state of disarray. He is sweating and looks like a man who is talking to the devil himself. Some say he is. Some consider the man on the other end of the phone line the devil incarnate. He almost misses the cue to further twist the reality of the situation because of his lack of sleep. He had been dreading this call for hours.
“Yes comrade that is true but the losses are minimal in the larger scope of things. The oil is still flowing at the same rate as yesterday and the other facilities are being repaired rapidly. With our reserves and the captured supplies we should be able to carry out normal operations for the next 4 months in defense of the oil facilities. I am confident that we can beat back any more attempts at attacking Baku and soon any of the other facilities. I will admit that many of the other operations will have to wait until the spring. We will not be able to support fully all the operations in the West and still defend our vital oil fields.”
His mind was reeling with the possibility of his death being very imminent. His only salvation seemed to be that Stalin was under heavy sedation. He was not probing for weakness like usual and not mining his every sentence for mistakes and lies. This is what probably saved him…this time.
He did not fear that Beria would stab him in the back, for that bald cretin had as much to lose as he did. Both could be found fully culpable for the disaster that had occurred to the oil production facilities. Both could easily be tied to a chair and experiencing excruciating pain at this very moment if not for both of them holding to their agreed upon version of the truth. He had seen Beria’s second in command in action and he had no doubt that he would enjoy working on his superiors.
“Yes Excellency I fully understand the consequences of allowing others under my command to fail again and I do understand that it is ultimately my responsibility.”…
The phone in his hand suddenly jumps to life with the familiar ferocity he has come to know over the years. Stalin has garnered some strength from somewhere and is as menacing as ever. Besides being scared almost witless, Novikov wonders at how a small, frail cripple can be so threatening over a phone line. How can a pocked marked, old man be so intimidating from thousands of miles away? He personally could manage it but only when he was physically present.
“No comrade I will not let those responsible avoid responsibility and they will be punished appropriately.”…”Yes … I understand perfectly.”
***
LeMay was a terrible writer and we have taken the liberty of paraphrasing some of his entries. We know what he was thinking and from other sources we know the circumstances at the time of his
musings.
***
Could the Third Time be the Charm?
October 2nd, 1946
The turnaround was one of the fastest ever accomplished by a thousand plane long distance raid, like the kind just launched. In just under 8 hours the majority of SACs forces were lined up and ready to make the long flight once again to the Baku area. LeMay knew that time was not on his side and he had to hit the area hard and continuously until the job was done. Defeat was not an option and all knew it. You don’t lose when you are being commanded by Curtis LeMay. You don’t even consider defeat because he can see it in your eyes.
Once again the big bombers glided down the runways. Majestic as they were deadly. The CBs had made the runways as smooth as could be while using the Marston Matting that was so ubiquitous in the Pacific in the Second World War. It worked well on the hard packed sand that Egypt was made of. A great invention that made it possible to put a runway on even the most desolate of landscapes. It was a pretty simple concept as most great inventions are. Two millions tons of matting had been made and some of it was being put to good use in Egypt, Cyprus, Crete and Turkey.
The fighters waited until the bombers where overhead before they rolled down their runways from various bases in Turkey and a few islands along the way. The ramming attacks of yesterday were on the minds of all who got into a plane. The tenacity the Reds had shown with those attacks was a very large psychological weapon and that is why Novikov and the VVS still used them. How could you defeat such and enemy? The pragmatist would say that we already did defeat such and enemy when we crushed the scourge of the Kamikaze. Others might not be so confident we can do it again. The man who was giving the orders was sure it could be done again and one way or the other he was determined to win.
World War Three 1946 Series Boxed Set: Stalin Strikes First Page 81