Beyond the Call

by Lee Trimble

  He wasn’t laughing now. General Kovalev believed himself to be a man at the leading edge of a country about to go to war with its principal ally, and he was liable to explode at the slightest provocation. Nonetheless, he had been ordered by Marshal Stalin to dial down the antagonism in his handling of the Americans.24 His heavy jaw was set, and he glared at this young captain who had dared to interfere with a secret Soviet mission ordered by Moscow.

  ‘What is happening here?’ he asked.

  Again, but with less conviction, Robert stated his refusal to clear the flight. Kovalev took in the situation and understood immediately. ‘Captain, I see what you are attempting to do, but your actions are ill-advised. If you leave this airplane now, this incident will not be reported.’ Robert noticed Colonel Hampton at the doorway, gesturing at him to come out. He glanced at the handcuffed prisoner. ‘I assure you,’ said Kovalev, ‘this man will receive justice. Now please leave.’

  Robert was reminded of the Soviet officer at Rostov, assuring him that the stowaway boy would ‘get his wish’. He could still hear the gunshot.

  There was nothing he could do. He was outranked and outnumbered ten times over. Obeying Hampton’s urgent beckoning, he disembarked from the plane, defeated and ashamed. The door was slammed shut, and Captain Shenderoff’s fate was sealed.

  The reason for Kovalev’s sudden appearance became clear when a second B-24 was seen taxiing in from the runway. This was Becky, the VIP transport from Moscow. The plane drew up on the hardstanding next to Judith Ann and halted. Here at last were the brass.

  Still in a daze, Captain Trimble helped Colonel Hampton greet the generals. It was hard to tell Deane and Hill apart physically: similar height, similar build, dressed in identical raincoats. Blunt-featured, Major General Edmund W. Hill looked more like a cop than a general. His roots were in the pioneering spirit of the early aviators; he’d served in the infantry in World War I and later became an airman, with an amateur passion for airship and balloon piloting (his 1928 sporting license was signed by Orville Wright himself).25 Now he was the go-to man for contact with the OSS. Major General John R. Deane, on the other hand, looked exactly like the smooth military politician he was. As Robert was introduced to them by Colonel Hampton, it didn’t occur to him that gathered here were the only three men in Russia – Hampton, Hill, and Deane – who had known all about his covert mission.

  They were in an upbeat mood, and Hampton pulled out all the stops to warm Hill and Deane’s welcome. They noticed the B-24 parked nearby, but made no comment. Although General Deane knew exactly who was aboard, even down to the composition of the crew, he didn’t acknowledge it.26

  The generals and the reception committee drove back to the headquarters site, leaving the ground crews to check and fuel up the two aircraft. The official photographer lingered for a while, taking pictures. He had no idea what had gone on with the two planes and had missed the actual arrival of the generals.27 Soon he too departed the scene. Sealed inside Judith Ann, the crew, the passengers, and their prisoner waited.

  An hour after she had arrived, Judith Ann’s engines roared into life again, and she taxied out and took off toward Moscow. On arrival, Captain Morris Shenderoff was handed over to a Major Storbanov of the Red Army. Lieutenant Colonel Stepanovich, the American with a slight Russian accent, was careful to obtain a receipt for the handover.28

  At that point, Morris Shenderoff, who had been born in Cleveland, and whose only desire had been to escape the country of his ancestors and return to the land of his birth, disappeared. Nobody, from General Deane down to Captain Trimble, ever learned for certain what happened to him. But a rumor later reached Poltava that he was shot within minutes of leaving the plane.29

  The Soviets had taken one of the scalps they had demanded. There would be more before this was all over.

  Chapter 18

  SPARE THE CONQUERED, CONFRONT THE PROUD

  14 APRIL 1945: POLTAVA

  THE PRESIDENT WAS dead.

  On the grim stone road outside their barracks, in the shadow of the old bombed ruins, the officers and men of Eastern Command mustered, immaculate in their dress uniforms. They formed up four abreast in a long column that filled the road. At its head was a color guard of three men bearing the flag of the United States, the first time in Eastern Command’s existence that the Stars and Stripes had been flown at Poltava.1 The colors had been brought out of storage, and this parade had been mustered, to mark the passing of President Franklin D. Roosevelt.

  The news had reached Poltava the previous morning via British radio.2 The Americans, already demoralized and resentful toward the Russians, were cast into an angry depression. They had lost their officers, and now they had lost their leader. Like the ousting of Colonel Hampton and Major Kowal, Roosevelt’s death was the fault of Stalin, they believed.3 The Soviet dictator was too frightened to leave his own country, so the sick president had been forced to travel all the way to Yalta for the Big Three conference, and the stress had been his final undoing.

  General Kovalev made a gesture that helped heal the division; upon hearing the news, he immediately marshaled his officers and marched them to the American camp, where they paid their respects and offered their condolences. The Americans were surprised and touched to learn that the Russians too were upset by the death of Roosevelt. They had thought of him as Russia’s friend, a man who would bring peace to the world. They knew nothing of Truman, and it worried them.4

  Today, as Eastern Command paraded their colors and marched through the camp to the theater, where a memorial service was to be held, Poltava’s Red Army officers joined them, in a rare show of unity. With all the combat crews who were stranded at the base by the grounding of flights, the little theater was packed, with dozens of men sitting in the aisle. The colors were set either side of the stage, which was draped with the Stars and Stripes. Poignantly, on the right of the stage was a portrait of the President that had been painted by a Soviet artist some months ago, with a matching head of Stalin on the opposite side.5

  Seated in the front row were Eastern Command’s senior officers. Nervously, Captain Robert Trimble rose from his seat and mounted the stage. In the silence, he began his address. ‘Today the United States has lost a great leader,’ he declared, and glanced down at Colonel Hampton, seated solemn-faced among the Soviet officers, and at Major Kowal, sitting with his fellow Americans. ‘And Eastern Command too has lost a leader.’6 Most of the men and women who heard him speak had learned only yesterday that he had been made commanding officer; some of them barely even knew who he was. It was a curious and almost chilling echo of the succession of President Truman.7

  Robert retained no memory of what else he said in his address, but it didn’t matter; in his opening lines he had said what really mattered to the Americans gathered in the theater. The leaders they knew and trusted were gone, and the future was uncertain. Like Captain Trimble, all they could do was push ahead and do their best, and not give up.

  THE DAY AFTER the memorial service, the new commander and his officers held a conference with General Kovalev and his staff.

  It seemed such an absurd situation. Robert had subordinates who outranked him – his executive officer was a major – and he was facing a Russian opposite number who was a general. But he gritted his teeth and did his best.

  Despite the fact that he ranked lower than the men he was dealing with, there were still moments when he had to swallow his pride. Notwithstanding the brief show of Russian–American unity at the memorial service, relations were still tense, hovering on the brink of open conflict. In Soviet eyes, the Americans were in the wrong; they had behaved in suspicious ways in Poland and were still on a kind of probation. The ban on American flights and movements was still in force after more than two weeks.

  During his stopover a few days ago, immediately after the incident over Shenderoff, General Hill had taken Robert aside and told him that he must do everything he possibly could to appease and cooperate with the Soviets.8 Thi
s meeting was the first step. It had been convened expressly for the purpose of asking General Kovalev if there was anything the Americans could do to improve relations.

  Knowing the Soviets as he did, and with his first-hand knowledge of what they had done (and were still doing) in Poland raw and vivid in his memory, to Robert every word he spoke at that conference felt like an affront to his own morals and a blow to his self-esteem. He could feel himself becoming a part of the machine.

  General Kovalev responded diplomatically. He had always been content in his relations with the Americans, he claimed. He understood their anxieties, which were no doubt caused by their inability to get their stranded combat crews home. Kovalev inquired kindly whether the Americans wished to take part in the upcoming May Day celebrations. And he suggested that if Captain Trimble should have any problems at all in running his command, he should come right away and talk them over. ‘Anything that you cannot settle by yourself,’ the general said, ‘I am certain that you and I can handle easily together.’

  It was an olive branch, in a way, but it was an olive branch offered to a young and inexperienced officer whom General Kovalev clearly believed he could push around and patronize. The words were kindly spoken, but the power remained in Soviet hands, and Eastern Command’s airplanes were still grounded until further notice. Over the weeks that followed, Captain Trimble would prove to be a little less easy to mollify than Kovalev had anticipated, but for now Robert held his temper in check and kept relations running smoothly.

  Or at least, fairly smoothly. Robert kept his mouth shut about the POWs he believed were still stuck in Poland, but he quizzed Kovalev about the American salvage personnel who were trapped there by the flying ban. They must have long since run out of rations, and Robert had doubts about whether the Soviets would feed or take care of them properly. After a pointed inquiry to Kovalev about resuming salvage work, Robert received a message from Moscow ordering him to desist.9 Eastern Command’s role in salvage was at an end, he was told; the Russians would be conducting salvage of US aircraft from now on.

  This was preposterous. As Robert and his chief engineering officer knew, the Russians didn’t have the skills to repair and fly an aircraft like the B-17 properly. There was also the Soviets’ history of stealing American aircraft. However, the Russians seemed intent on acting in good faith, and did repair some planes, fly them back to Poltava, and hand them over. Robert’s expectations were confirmed when a B-17 flew in with all four of its engines overheating and smoking like volcanoes. The Russian crew hadn’t known how to operate the cooling flaps built into the engine cowls. The Russian mechanics also had a habit of filching bits and pieces from salvaged planes, and they stole tools from Eastern Command’s stores.10

  In protest, Captain Trimble began refusing to accept any aircraft turned in by the Soviets in substandard condition. Another order came from Moscow: ‘Desire that you accept any American planes turned over to you from Soviets without raising question of missing parts with local Soviet command.’11 Robert replied that any aircraft repaired by the Soviets would need a complete overhaul by American mechanics. He also requested that Eastern Command be relieved of any responsibility for the safety and performance of Soviet-salvaged planes when they were sent back to their units.12 Hill authorized him to do the necessary remedial work on the planes, and to report any problems to him rather than to Kovalev.

  What really got under the skin of the Americans at Poltava was the demoralizing sense of being trapped and ignored. There were still sick men in the hospital, needing evacuation to Tehran, and dozens of combat crewmen waiting to go back to their units. There was no mail delivery. And there was a simmering anger that the politicians, diplomats, and generals were giving way to the Soviets far too much.

  The Russians, for their part, still felt that the Americans had not yet been punished enough for their airmen’s misbehavior in Poland. There were heads that still must roll.

  MORRIS SHENDEROFF WAS not the only sacrifice the American Military Mission gave to the Soviets, but he was the only blood sacrifice. As April wore away and the Russians maintained their blockade on American flights in Soviet territory, two more AAF officers were punished.13 Near the end of the month, Lieutenant Donald Bridge, the pilot who had flown his B-24 from Mielec without Soviet clearance (allegedly causing a Russian officer to commit suicide in shame), was court-martialed at Fifteenth Air Force headquarters in Italy. He was found guilty and fined $600, and his record was besmirched. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Myron King, who had allegedly tried to smuggle the Pole ‘Jack Smith’ to England, was being held at Poltava. He was awaiting transport to Moscow, where he was to be court-martialed in the US Embassy.

  Acting as judge advocate at King’s court-martial would be none other than Lieutenant Colonel James D. Wilmeth, also stranded at Poltava by the flying ban. The defense was being organized by his comrade from the Lublin trip, Lieutenant Colonel Kingsbury. Lieutenant King’s defense counsel (who happened to be the only trained lawyer involved in the proceedings) was Second Lieutenant Leon Dolin, a B-17 pilot who had force-landed in Poland and who had been brought in from Lublin by Colonel Wilmeth.14

  The accused and the legal team were scheduled to fly from Poltava to Moscow on 18 April, on a Russian-crewed, American-owned C-47. When Captain Trimble heard who the pilot was going to be, he immediately refused clearance. It was Lieutenant Roklikov, the crazed incompetent who had busted up a C-47 and nearly killed Robert’s salvage team with his bungled landing and take-off at Staszów. Repeated attempts to have him removed from duty had come to nothing. Now Robert tried again. He sent a message to General Kovalev: ‘It is not within my jurisdiction to allow any American aircraft here to be flown by Lt Roklikov.’15

  Another meeting was called, and Robert experienced in full the Soviet ability to flatly deny reality.16 General Kovalev brushed away Robert’s expert eyewitness account of the pilot’s escapade at Staszów and insisted that Roklikov was an excellent pilot. ‘If I had an airplane of my own,’ the general said blithely, ‘I would happily let him take it up and land it however he chose.’

  This time Robert was determined not to be bowed. He refused to clear the flight. There was a stalemate, and it was Kovalev who was forced to give a little. Would it help if he were to personally guarantee the safety of Colonel Wilmeth and the other passengers? Robert said that it would not. The flight could not be cleared. But sensing that Kovalev would never yield, and feeling the pressure from Moscow to get the King case settled, Robert had to be content with Kovalev’s personal guarantee. Getting a Soviet officer to stake his honor on such a promise was quite an achievement.

  Colonel Wilmeth and his party left Poltava that day, and made it to Moscow in one piece. They were taken directly to the embassy. Wilmeth had left this place over two months ago on his hopeful mission to help the prisoners of war in Poland. Having been treated shamefully by the Soviets there, he was returning in the role of their puppet prosecutor against a fellow American officer. As far as he could see, there was barely any case at all against the young lieutenant.17 But he was under orders to ransack the rulebook and cobble together whatever charges he could.

  The charade began on 25 April and ran for two days, in an atmosphere of unease and ill will. Lieutenant King was found guilty and, like Lieutenant Bridge, was fined $600, with a permanent black mark on his record.18 The officers of the jury, ashamed of what they had taken part in, all signed a request for clemency, which they forwarded to General Deane, currently in Washington. Deane, effectively acting on behalf of the Soviets, denied the request. The purpose of this trial was not justice; it was diplomacy.

  Diplomacy was satisfied. The sacrifices were sufficient, and the Americans had been humbled. The day after the verdict, General Kovalev officially lifted the ban on American flights in and out of Poltava. On that day, Captain Robert Trimble, sensing the return of peace to his command, cabled Moscow: ‘On twenty eighth day of Soviet grounding … local test hops for combat and transportation aircraf
t allowed. … One B-17 and one P-51 scheduled to depart for Italy tomorrow with Soviets quite cooperative.’19

  Knowing what this peace had cost, Robert was disgusted. He felt ashamed of himself and, for the first time in his life, ashamed of his country. It was only chance that had prevented Robert himself from being part of the court-martial. His name had been on the list of potential court members, and only his appointment as CO had saved him.20 The mood throughout Eastern Command was low. The officers and men felt that they had been let down by their superiors. The Soviets had been appeased when they should have been stood up to.

  Lieutenant Myron King returned to Poltava that same day. He had been flown out of Moscow in a rush, in case the Soviets made a stink about the leniency of his sentence.21 Captain Trimble took advantage of the lifting of the flying ban and ensured that King and his crew got on a flight the very next day to Tehran (their B-17, Maiden USA, had already been ferried back to England).22 When General Kovalev – learning of their departure after the event – complained, Robert advised him to take the matter up with Moscow.23

  In his few quiet moments, when he was able to give thought to his own situation, Robert wondered what might have happened to him if he’d been caught in any of his prisoner-exfiltration missions. If this was what they would do to men who’d given the kind of trivial offense that King and Bridge had, what would the Soviets have done to him? Well, he knew the answer to that already – they’d most likely have killed him off quietly, somewhere out in the wilds, and blamed the partisans and terrorists. Would the generals in Moscow have stood up for him and held them to account? He doubted it. To do so would have been to admit their complicity. That was why there were no written orders and no trail leading from his activities back to them.