Bradley responded: “We don’t have direction from the President or the NSC, beyond staying in Berlin. That we will do until forced out.”38
Clay wrote: “As you know, with the British and French we’ve looked at what we would do if war broke out. The conclusion was, and I quote: ‘Wargaming of the defense of the Rhine has just been completed in EUCOM, the outcome of which was, briefly, that the Rhine line was held for 3 days following D-Day after which a necessary rapid withdrawal from France was effected.’ This conclusion would have to be viewed as optimistic in light of our commitment of fighter assets to covering the airlift, if the Soviets were to attack.”39
Royall responded: “President Truman made it clear, we are staying, period. But your instructions remain unchanged—not to initiate military action, but take defensive measures as necessary. If the Soviets want war, they have to start it.”40
Sokolovsky, however, was under strict orders not to start a war. Stalin had other plans. He had already set up the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (North Korea) in September, under a Soviet-drafted constitution that named Seoul as its capital. In another six months, Stalin would begin laying plans for the Korean War in Moscow discussions with Kim II Sung.41
Frankfurt-Berlin Air Corridor: 1230, October 18, 1948
On Monday, October 18, Sokolovsky’s air regiments were to try again, for the last time, to intimidate Clay, LeMay, and Tunner into calling off the airlift and evacuating Berlin. However, as we have seen one of their pilots, whose name is lost to history, decided to shoot instead of intimidate, giving Lieutenant Russell Brown the first, but for more than 40 years unacknowledged, US Air Force kill of a Soviet fighter since World War II.42
While Brown and McCoy reported their Yak kills, Colonel Yevgeni Glinka was hung over and boiling mad. He had Lieutenants Rabotev and Khurchatov standing at attention in his office, and he had just finished berating them as cowards for running from the USAF F-80s—they had flown the other two Yaks in the flight that had shot down the C-54. His head throbbing, he ordered the two lieutenants out, and shouted for his operations officer, Major Ivan Kaberov: “Kaberov! Get in here!”
Kaberov, familiar with Glinka’s vodka habits, came in on the run, expecting trouble. “Yes, Comrade Colonel?” Glinka said: “I want every pilot and aircraft in the regiment airborne as soon as possible. The Yankees have shot down two of our boys and those cowards ran from them!”
Kaberov, knowing not to argue with Glinka, replied: “I’ve got half the regiment in the air right now, but they’re low on fuel. We need to recover, refuel, and issue orders…”
Cutting Kaberov short, Glinka shouted: “There’s no time for that. Launch the ready fighters now, then recover!” “And what orders do I give the ready fighters?” asked Kaberov.
Glinka, full of scorn, snarled: “Find Americans and kill them!”
Glinka, in a rush, had made several serious errors. First, he was disobeying a direct order from his Air Army commander. Second, his regiment, the 158th Fighter Regiment, was based at Staaken and two smaller fields in the immediate vicinity of Berlin. This meant that his fighters were under constant US radar coverage, right down to their takeoffs and landings. Third, he did not wait to mass his forces or brief them properly before sending them into the air. Fourth, he forgot that the GRU and the NKVD monitored his communications. Finally, he counted too much on the loyalty of his often-abused operations officer.
Kaberov, returning to the operations room, sounded the alarm and scrambled the ready fighters, a single squadron of Yak 9Us. By using the alarm, he triggered a link to 4th Fighter Division’s operations center, which was on the phone with the 158th before the first aircraft left the ground.
“158th, this is 4th Division. You’ve scrambled your alert force. What’s going on there?” asked the voice over the direct line.
Kaberov had taken the call personally. “Comrade Colonel Glinka has ordered the launch to react to the shooting down of two of our aircraft by US F-80s,” he reported neutrally.
4th Division: “What shoot down? Why wasn’t this reported?”
Kaberov: “We learned of it when the flight returned to base and reported to the commander.”
4th Division: “There was no radio report?”
Kaberov: “No. Standing orders are to report incidents only in person.”
4th Division: “How did this happen?”
Kaberov: “Our pilots reported they were attacked without warning while flying across the Frankfurt-Berlin Corridor. They were jumped by F-80s, and one element went down in the fight, during which a C-54 was also hit and went down. The other element escaped the fight. That’s what the pilots reported.”
4th Division, incredulously: “And Comrade Colonel Glinka launched his ready fighters to attack the Americans? Is that what’s going on?”
Kaberov: “Yes.”
4th Division: “On my authority, launch no other fighters. General Orlov needs to report this to Second Air Army, and receive instructions.”
With that, what became known to legend as the “Great Berlin Furball” kicked-off.
The leader of the ready fighter force, 3rd Squadron, heard over his radio the excited voice of his commander, Colonel Glinka, as he gained altitude over the field.
“Bear, this is Krasnya. Fly to Tempelhof and knock down as many Americans as you can, over.”
“Bear,” Captain Sergei Anopov, listened in shock to his commander’s voice. Like all the pilots in the regiment, he had been briefed on the rules of engagement the day before, and understood that these rules came from the highest levels of command—there was to be no shooting, no matter what—and here his commander was countermanding those rules.
“Krasnya, is this war? We’ve had no warning, over,” Bear said.
“Bear, follow orders! They’ve killed two of our pilots today and we’re fighting back!” responded Krasnya.
“Roger,” said Bear, thinking he needed to be very careful in the next few minutes.
3rd Squadron formed into a combat formation by flights as it circled over Staaken, then headed for the spot six miles southwest of Tempelhof still over the Soviet Zone where Ground Controlled Approach (GCA) took control of incoming C-54s.
Berlin Air Safety Center, seeing the massed fighters in combat formation heading toward the critical point in the Tempelhof approach pattern, urgently called the C-54s closing on that point and ordered them not to begin their descents. The three C-54s next in line heard the call and began the standard go around procedure. (Aircraft that missed landings or had mechanical problems simply went home to Rhein-Main—Tunner had ordered an end to “stacking” aircraft over Berlin after one disastrous afternoon’s experience.)43
Used to operating under strict Ground Controlled Intercept (GCI) procedures, Bear called his GCI controller: “Stork, this is Bear. Request heading and range to target.”
Stork, the 158th’s GCI operation, was located in a room next to the 158th’s operation room, and had been visited by Colonel Glinka.
Stork responded: “Bear, this is Stork, your target is a large aircraft at heading 200, altitude 1,500 meters, range 9,000 meters. Climb to 6,000 meters, turn to heading 190. Possible enemy fighters at 6,000 meters, heading 210.”
Stork had spotted a flight of P-47s, moving along above the transport stream, about 10 miles behind the C-54 the Yaks were vectored to intercept. Stork had, however, missed a flight of F-80s that was about 20 miles back of the target, and coming fast.
Tempelhof GCA had a radar range at altitude of 40 miles. The radar operator there could see the Yaks, the P-47s, and die F-80s. He called the P-47s: “Osprey flight, this is Berlin GCA. Bogies to your 10 o’clock and level. You have a heavy [the C-54] at 12 o’clock low.”
The Osprey flight leader ordered his flight to climb and turn toward the bogies, taking the advantages of altitude and the sun. He knew the Yaks could outperform his “Jugs” in a dogfight, but he could out-dive and out-climb the Yaks—if there were going to be a fight, h
e wanted to fight vertically, not in the horizontal plane where the Yaks had the speed and turning radius advantages.
Gold flight, the F-80s, had also heard the call, and pushed their throttles while slightly nosing down to reach maximum air speed. (Compression would be a problem if they were going too fast—approaching the speed of sound would make the subsonic aircraft respond sluggishly, almost locking the controls.) They closed quickly on the much slower propeller-driven aircraft.
Suddenly, everything happened at once. Bear had ordered one of his flights to climb higher, to fly top cover against the US fighters he had been warned about but had not yet seen—that flight almost ran into the oncoming P-47s, which refused to engage despite being fired upon.
Osprey flight rolled and dove toward the rest of Bear’s force, now itself rolling in on the C-54. GCA called the C-54 and ordered it to dive, too. Bear’s top cover called a warning, Bear’s squadron scattered, with one element staying on the C-54 and the others turning toward the P-47s. The P-47s went streaking down toward the C-54, hoping to drive off the two Yaks still in pursuit, while still refusing to engage the balance of Bear’s forces.
The Yaks chasing the C-54 heard their comrades call a warning, and broke to one side, away from Osprey flight’s leader. His second element took a long range, high-deflection shot at them, but saw no results. Osprey flight was zooming back to altitude with the Yaks concentrating on getting some kind of shot at them when the F-80s arrived at speed.
Stork had seen the F-80s coming at last, and called a warning to Bear, but the P-47s were on them at that point and Bear could not react to the call. The F-80s found both sides’ fighters hanging on their props, struggling for altitude. Coming in hot, the F-80s couldn’t turn and just picked targets for nearly head-on diving passes. Three of the four Gold flight F-80s scored hits on the distinctively painted Yaks as they shot through them.
Bear’s squadron scattered again, while Osprey flight continued to gain altitude, and Gold flight pulled up into a straight zoom.
During this time, the startled C-54 had pulled out of its dive, and shot into the US sector low and fast, and coughing hard. (Its cargo was duffel bags full of coal, and coal dust, shaken loose by the abrupt maneuvers, had filled the cabin and cockpit.)
Bear, cursing Stork for letting the F-80s surprise him, ordered his wounded aircraft home while he fought for altitude and reassembled his formation—he knew he outnumbered the Americans two to one, and no matter how fast the jets were, they could not turn with him. And he wanted the P-47s.
The Osprey pilots wanted the Yaks just as badly, but were not about to fight on their terms. Gold flight, able to zoom to altitude much faster than the prop-driven fighters could climb, was already back on top, and called to Osprey to follow them down on the Yaks.
At that point, both sides heard their ground controllers call them off. Bear heard Pelikan, the call sign for 4th Fighter Division’s GCI operator, order them to break off and head home. At just about the same time, Home Plate, the American’s GCI, called Osprey and Gold, and ordered them to break off. Once again, both sides followed orders.
Berlin: 1300, October 18, 1948
While all of this had been going on, much had been happening on the ground. Soviet air police, acting on General Orlov’s orders, had arrested Colonel Glinka at Staaken. They arrested Kaberov, and, after he landed, Captain Anopov. They also arrested Major Petrinko, Glinka’s executive officer, whom they found in his quarters in a drunken stupor (he had been Glinka’s drinking buddy the night before, but did not have Glinka’s capacity).44
LeMay and Tunner conferred, then LeMay called Clay. The airlift stayed on, despite the furball. They concluded that no other Soviet aircraft had been directed into combat, and no other preparations for combat were visible. They were going to proceed until the Soviets acted to stop them.
Gold flight had an interview with Colonel Baker in terms that Lieutenants Brown, McCoy, and Gibson would have recognized, while Osprey flight received similar orders from their commander. An airtight lid had been placed on the Great Berlin Furball, but rumors—probably started by radar operators and C-54 pilots—gave it life for years in Air Force ready rooms and clubs.
There was no further Soviet offensive action. Clay decided to report events to Washington, but to say nothing publicly or to the Soviets. He concluded that the ball was in Sokolovsky’s court.45
Berlin: 1400, October 18, 1948
The orders to the Yak fighter regiments had been explicit. Their pilots were not to open fire, not under any circumstances. They were only to buzz the transports. If American or British fighters approached, they were to fly to safe zones outside the corridor where Soviet anti-aircraft batteries were in position.
Sokolovsky had trouble finding out the truth. He had radio intercepts of the American transmissions from the GRU, Soviet Military Intelligence, which monitored all American radio traffic during the airlift. After the first F-80 versus Yak dogfight, the GRU had translated and rushed the intercepts to him, beating a report that was making its way up the air chain of command from the fighter regiment to the air division to air army to the Soviet air commander in Germany. He also had the Red Army reports of the crashed aircraft before he received the report from the regiment whose aircraft had been involved. And he knew the NKVD, the secret police, was monitoring all of these events and would make a direct report to Beria, who might make a direct report to Stalin.
Sokolovsky received the report from General Yesov, his air commander. He read it with consternation, seeing that it claimed that the Yaks had been attacked without warning by the US jet fighters and the C-54 had gone down after getting caught in the middle of the dogfight. That report disagreed with the Berlin Air Safety Center radar plot, which the British and French also saw, with the army anti-aircraft force’s radar and visual observations, and with what he knew the US pilots were reporting to their chain of command.
While he was studying this report, he received a phone call from a smoking mad Yesov who reported the second air battle of the day. This time the report was accurate. Yesov reported the battle was caused by a drunken colonel acting directly contrary to orders. He said no aircraft were lost—on either side, so far as he could tell—but five Yaks were damaged. He had placed all of the people responsible at the fighter regiment under arrest.
Sokolovsky was in a box. As head of the Soviet Military Administration for Germany, he reported directly to Stalin, and had received his orders from him. One of his pilots had grossly overstepped his orders. If the pilot were still alive, Sokolovsky would have had him shot. And now a fighter regiment commander, whose affection for vodka apparently outweighed his respect for orders, had started a second air battle. But Sokolovsky knew that even having everyone in the air force chain of command shot would not save him if Stalin held him personally responsible for the mistake.
He could try presenting the fighter regiment’s report of the first air battle as accurate, but Stalin would know it was not, and a false report would kill him just as dead as a report of a (now deceased) subordinate’s over zealousness. However, if he took strong disciplinary action against the drunkard, made an accurate report, and Stalin did not have him shot or sent to the gulag, he should be okay. A false report, if accepted, could lead to World War III, and if it did not, Beria would know he had lied, and so would the GRU. That was not a recipe for a long and healthy life.
Sokolovsky made the most difficult phone call he ever had to make in his life. He called Stalin.
Stalin came on the line: “Vassily Danilovich, you had trouble today?”
Sokolovsky, sweating, knowing Beria had made his report, replied: “Generalissimo, it is true. A fighter pilot shot down an American C-54 in the Frankfurt to Berlin corridor, right in front of American jet fighters. He and his wingman were shot down by the Americans. There were no survivors.”
Stalin paused. Sokolovsky could hear him chewing on his pipe. “You took no other action?”
“Everyone was unde
r strict orders not to shoot even if fired upon, but the downed pilots” regimental commander launched an attack on his own,” replied Sokolovsky. “I ordered it halted.”
Stalin said: “So they couldn’t follow orders any better after first firing on the Americans?”
Sokolovsky, sure he was about to hear his own death sentence, said: “Generalissimo, I’ve arrested the regimental commander and the others involved.”
Stalin, once again chewing on his pipe, paused again, and then said: “Vassily Danilovich, you will make certain that orders are strictly followed in the future, won’t you?” He continued: “I see you are due to return to Moscow for another assignment soon. You must come and tell me about your progress with the Germans. And,” and here Stalin paused again: “Don’t talk to the Americans about this. I will handle it.”
With that, Stalin hung up, and Sokolovsky thought he might live to see another sunrise. But he did not look forward at all to reporting to Stalin personally.46
Stalin’s next call was to Molotov. Molotov was then in Paris for the meeting of the United Nations, as were his counterparts, Secretary Marshall, and Foreign Ministers Ernest Bevin (Britain) and Robert Schumann (France).47
“Vyacheslav Mikhailovich, this is Druzhkov,” Stalin began.48 “I need the Americans to stop sending fighters as escorts for their Berlin air transports. There has been an incident. Two of our fighters, contrary to orders, shot down one of their transports and were then shot down by American fighters. There was also a second fight with no losses. That’s as far as it went. Sokolovsky is taking care of those who can’t follow orders.”
Cold War Hot: Alternate Decisions of the Cold War Page 4