Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series)

by Gee, Colin

  The plan was for them and their sister squadrons to make their visit on the Russians and then land at various airfields in Northern France, ready for round two the following night.

  Lancaster AR-S was the design culmination of years of bombing experience and it served no purpose other than to destroy. Despite the protestations of the Squadron Adjutant, Saul and his crew had humorously nicknamed their bird after the Squadron letters and his own name. The Squadron Commander let it ride and calmed the Adjutant’s ruffled feathers. It was good for morale and Bomber crews had it tough.

  Tonight, S for Sugar was once more in the skies over Germany, having normally carried bombs to wreak havoc on a German City, but this time for a wholly different purpose.

  Gently easing the huge craft according to the calm instructions of his bomb-aimer, Saul watched as the anti-aircraft fire grew more accurate and he gripped the stick more firmly in case something burst nearby.

  His mid-upper gunner swore loudly and shouted at his Skipper to look to port.

  Saul turned and saw the stricken Lancaster AR-N lazily roll over, nose gone from a flak burst. Every member of the crew that could watch did so until the aircraft containing their friends and colleagues fire-balled on impact with the ground fifteen thousand feet below.

  Everyone except the bomb aimer, who remained fixed to his bombsight.

  “Steady.”

  “Call that in Sparks. Confirm N for November gone.”

  “Roger skip.”

  “Steady.”

  A burst on the port side close in moved the bomber to starboard in a small surge.

  “Left, left, steady.”

  Another Lancaster was hit, this time more spectacularly, main spar giving way, smashed by the explosion within her fuselage, four distinct pieces of aircraft slowly separating and falling to earth.

  A pained voice spoke a single word.

  “Aaron.”

  As the rear section fell, the tail-gunner’s voice lost its emotion, sounding mechanical and detached.

  “That’s C for Charlie going down Skipper.”

  Silence, oppressive silence, as oppressive as only silence containing real horror and pain can be.

  Saul swallowed hard and keyed his mike.

  “Roger Den. I’m sorry mate, really sorry.”

  A short delay, enough for a man to steady his voice and get control of his emotions once more.

  “Roger Skipper. I’m ok.”

  Saul looked at the flight engineer, automatically correcting as the bombardiers instructions came in. They nodded at each other.

  “Want a spell there Den? Give you some time? Wally will come back.”

  No delay this time.

  “Negative. I’m fine Skip. Let’s get it done.”

  Wally shrugged and resumed his position.

  “Roger that Den.”

  Saul wasn’t too sure what else he could usefully say to a man that had just watched his twin brother die.

  “Bombs gone!”

  The aircraft leapt and Saul cursed himself for not hearing the bomb-aimer’s warning as the weight difference caused the bomber to gain height rapidly.

  On the target, three different colour flares had been set by the Pathfinders, Mosquitoes of 163 Squadron.

  S for Sugar’s crew was an efficient group and their bomb-aimer was one of the best in the business. So provided the 163 Squadron boys had done their job right then the bombs would be on target.

  Both groups were on top form and S for Sugar put her cookies right on the money.

  0259 hrs Monday, 6th August 1945, Headquarters of Red Banner Forces of Soviet Europe, Schloss Schönefeld, Leipzig.

  Whilst the Soviet night-fighters had proved ineffective and the Flak little better, those on the ground had reason to be thankful for their advance warning and preparations for such attacks.

  Had there been none, then the loss of life would have been extreme. As it was, whilst many soldiers and civilians were killed, key personnel were almost unaffected, although the disruption to Soviet military affairs would be considerable.

  Schloss Gundorf disintegrated under the pounding of eleven bomb loads, each of twelve thousand pounds of high explosive.

  Admittedly, the headquarters of the Red Banner Forces of Europe had planned to move to its forward location the following evening and so some personnel and accoutrements had already moved out, but it could not be denied that the loss of the Schloss was a setback.

  Zhukov sat in a special radio truck with his communications staff, briefing his Front commanders on events in Leipzig, receiving news of similar occurrences at half a dozen places behind Soviet lines and, more importantly, sorting out how the following day’s military affairs were going to be managed.

  Finally, before returning to the air raid shelter to grab a few hours sleep, he and an NKVD Colonel discussed the untenable position of the Front’s Air Force Commander, Major-General Boris Komarov.

  Zhukov was woken from his slumber at 0600.

  Anna Komarov had been a widow for just over an hour.

  0535 hrs Friday 10th August 1945, Vendeville Airfield, France.

  The flight back from 'stonking' Leipzig was quiet, far quieter than normal. Another kill occurred briefly but spectacularly close by, the ever-present NF30 Mosquitoes of 141 Squadron pouncing on an enemy, aircraft type unknown, which was a threat and then it was dead.

  Approaching their temporary airfield, designated B51, at Vendeville near Lille, the banter was absent and as they touched down the standard derisory comments about a bumpy landing were not forthcoming; nothing.

  S for Sugar came to a halt near a newly erected blast screen, bulldozed into place so recently that the shrubs which had been removed in its favour still stuck haphazardly skywards, some roots first, others branches uppermost.

  Engines off and shut down complete, the crew made their way out of the aircraft.

  The six men looked at each other. Wally moved to the fuselage door and called down towards the tail-gunners position.

  “Den? Come on mate. Den?”

  As he did so, Saul walked slowly around the tail-plane and came to an abrupt stop, knowing what he might see and shocked to confirm his suspicions.

  The rear turret was fully turned to port and the break out hatch in its rear was gone, exposing the workings of the guns to the elements.

  It was empty.

  As Saul looked on in disbelief, Wally’s ashen face appeared.

  “He jumped Wally. The poor bastard bloody jumped.”

  Wally said nothing, holding Dennis Riley’s parachute up for Saul to see.

  “The poor bastard.”

  0320 hrs Friday 10th August 1945, Advance Headquarters of 12th US Armored Division, Bad Windsheim, Germany.

  12th US Armored Division, the Hellcats, was itching to go. Having force marched over two nights and hidden during the day, they had displaced from Heidenheim and Augsburg northwards nearly eighty miles to their staging area around Bad Windsheim.

  Both the 152nd Signals Btn and 56th Armored Infantry sustained some casualties due to Soviet air attacks but, in the main, the move had gone off without a hitch for them.

  The unit commander, Brig. Gen. Willard A. Holbrook Jr as was on the 7th August but who was now a temporary Major General, went over the plans for the relieving attack with his Combat Command leaders and Regimental CO’s.

  The part to be played by his three field artillery commanders in tandem with Lieutenant Colonel J.M.Welch of the 573rd AAA Btn was relatively unique and would hopefully pay dividends in the battles ahead.

  To their east side, elements of the 9th US Armored recovered from the Bayreuth Pocket and reinforced by the 16th RCT of the Big Red One were preparing to relive the pressure on the northern side of Nurnberg, aiming a thrust from Neustadt-an-der-Aisch north-east towards Bamberg.

  The 12th’s job was to buy time for the 42nd and 63rd Infantry on the Tauber River and possibly drive back up towards Würzburg.

  For both the 10th and the 1
2th, the job was also to minimise casualties in both men and equipment.

  The P61 Black Widow was her name and she was designed for a number of tasks from bombing to reconnaissance. Tonight three P61-C’s of 416th Night-Fighter Squadron USAAF were roaming the skies at night, locating prey with their radar and using deadly Hispano cannon to end resistance. Until very recently the 416th had been stationed at Schweinfurt but having been singled out for Soviet attention they had withdrawn to a new home near Günzburg. The rest of the squadron, eleven in all, were off accompanying bombers on offensive operations but these three survivors of the twenty-two on the squadron strength on 6th August were special. Recent arrivals from Northrop, they possessed higher performance. In case the Soviet air force got lucky and shot one down, examined it and gleaned the secrets, they were forbidden from flying over enemy territory in case their modifications were copied.

  As München had been receiving a number of night bomber attacks they were tasked with its defence that night.

  And what a night it would be, for the Black Widow’s were not the only lethal ladies aloft and heading to München.

  A casual observer at their airfield might have wondered if he was looking at a serious military unit. Starting with the planes, even a rudimentary knowledge of aircraft would make someone think he was back in the First World War. The Polikarpov PO-2 was a wood and canvass biplane designed in 1928, for purposes like training and crop-dusting. With a maximum speed below the stalling speed of its German adversaries, the aircrews who used the PO-2 found that lack of speed was their saviour in the Patriotic War.

  The aircrew had consistently distinguished themselves from 1942 and Taman, through to the end in May 1945. Taman particularly, as the unit had been honoured and renamed as the 46th "Taman" Guards Night Bomber Aviation Regiment, respectfully known by friend and foe alike as the Night Witches, for all the air crew were female.

  The full Regiment normally consisted of twenty aircraft but on the third mission of the night only thirteen were aloft, returning to bomb the army holding camp steadily growing outside of München. Two of their number remained within the perimeter of that camp, knocked down by anti-aircraft fire on the first mission. The second mission had been a success until the return when one of the PO-2’s flipped on landing, killing both crewmembers. Two others were being repaired, having taken damage during the week’s fighting. Thus far, 25% of the Witches had been killed in less than a week but during the Patriotic War there had been no shortage of replacements waiting and the 46th was rarely below strength for long.

  On this mission they were accompanied by three Yak-9M PVO’s, adapted for night fighting from the basic Yak-9.

  None of the three pilots had fired a shot that night and neither did they expect to, as the Soviets ruled the air.

  0325 hrs Friday 10th August 1945, Airborne over München, Germany.

  There it was, a smudge on the screen, not very distinct but certainly something worth chasing and killing, for nothing in the air over Munich that night was friendly, except the two aircraft operating five thousand and ten thousand feet above “Night Reaper”, the Northrop Black Widow of Captain Lassiter and his crew.

  He had bottom station at ten thousand feet and according to the radar operator, there were a number of slow moving aircraft at about nine thousand five hundred feet altitude, some eight miles ahead.

  A matter-of-fact statement in his ear told him that one of his group, Radowski, had three contacts in the air space above, joined by an eager French-Louisianan voice confirming that the third Northrop also had acquired and was attacking.

  Lassiter slowed his airplane with perforated air brakes, part of the modification they wished to keep secret, but still he found he was gaining on what was in front of him.

  Making the decision to keep back, he manoeuvered ‘Reaper’ in a lazy circle as he let his comrades do their work.

  He was facing directly away from the group he had discovered when his gunner informed him of a kill.

  Completing his turn, he was able to watch the night sky dissected by an orange line, marking the death plunge of an aircraft.

  Within a second, another similar line started, almost prescribing a fiery cross in the sky, but terminated early as the aircraft exploded before reaching the ground. The first aircraft had buried itself into the hallowed soil of the Friedhof Perlach, killing the gravedigger preparing for the following days business.

  “Antoinette has a confirmed kill”, Lebel transmitted, his Cajun voice betraying his excitement at a first ever shoot down.

  “Scratch one for Warsaw, on number three” the New York Pole’s voice clinical as ever when killing enemies of his country, particularly those who had betrayed and violated her in 1939.

  Going round once more, Reaper’s pilot again missed the death of an enemy and this time there was no streak of flame to mark its death, just the toneless Radowski claiming his second kill for his aircraft “Warsaw’s Revenge”, named for his home City and his general outlook in war.

  Now that was over, Lassiter could do his work.

  The loss of two of her top cover fighters disturbed Major Ludmilla Perkova, leader of tonight’s mission. She was a Hero of the Soviet Union, as were two others in the air with her that night, and you did not get the award for being timid. She was disturbed because no night fighters had been encountered before and her cover was reduced from three to one in as many seconds.

  Ordering her regiment to be vigilant, she began her run in on the target, the Forstenneder Park, where a tented city was springing up and growing daily.

  As per the usual tactics, distance between aircraft was important, especially as on the run-in the engine was turned off to glide, creating a soft whooshing sound, which was all that normally betrayed the presence of death in the sky above.

  Perkova reached for the engine switch and died in the same instant, a burst of 20mm cannon shells ripping through her position and exploding, destroying her completely and killing her navigator outright.

  The following PO-2’s saw only the briefest flare from the night-fighters guns but realised that something was very wrong.

  Taking over, Perkova’s next senior officer dived her aircraft, trading height for safety, and failing.

  The Black Widow, flying as slow as Lassiter dared, curved lazily round onto the biplanes tail. The navigator saw or sensed the approaching shape and fired her ShKas machine-gun, the tracer merely giving a more accurate steer-in for Lassiter. Despite this, he missed with a small burst but Washington the gunner, controlling the quad .50cal remote turret, did remarkably better. Heavy bullets killed both aircrew messily, and inflicted structural damage, causing the airframe to disintegrate.

  Circling lazily around once more, ‘Reaper’ was confronted with an enemy regiment in seeming panic, aircraft splitting in all directions and diving for safety. The Night Witches were doing as they were trained, two even deciding to press on with their attack. Lassiter focused on these two and ordered his other aircraft to concentrate on those attempting to escape.

  Acknowledgements from the others followed but he still felt the need to remind them of the air safety zone and how close they were going to go to it. Friendly Flak isn’t friendly, a maxim for pilots the world over.

  The rearmost PO-2 seemed on autopilot, almost stationary, not attempting to sideslip or do anything to avoid the pursuer. This was the regiment’s junior pilot whose bravery in pressing on was not matched by either her composure or her flying skill under pressure.

  Concentrating hard, Lassiter managed to register radio calls recording success for both his fellow Northrop’s, all the time trying not to stall as he gained on his quarry.

  The PO-2 died and this time there was no swift death for her occupants. Both crew were hit but not killed, both wounded but conscious, they rode their burning craft into the ground, mercifully ending their ordeal.

  Seeing the last one directly in his sights he pulled the trigger once more and was greeted with nothing more than silence,
as the weapons were empty or jammed.

  Cursing he swung lazily by the PO-2, encouraging his gunner to take a shot on the way past.

  He did, as did the navigator of the PO-2. No bullets hit the vulnerable biplane. Seven hit the Black Widow; or rather, five hit her and two hit flesh.

  Whilst not dead, Washington had a very nasty and prodigiously bleeding head wound and was not in a position to contribute further that night, collapsed senseless on the floor of his gunner’s station as he was.

  The other was in Lassiter’s right shoulder and it damn well hurt.

  Considering it had been a wild burst, the female gunner had done a good job, as flares suddenly erupted next to Mackenzie. Fire invaded his position, damaging the radar, destroying his maps and burning his legs. The fire extinguishers did their work as he battled to beat down the flames, choking himself and the unconscious gunner with the toxic fumes. In agony, the plucky operator twisted and tried to put the oxygen mask on his gunner, as flames fired up again, adding burns on top of burns on his legs.

  The PO-2 had missed its target, over flying in an attempt to evade the Black Widow and now turned, heading for home directly over Forstenneder Park.

  ‘Night Reaper’ weighed nearly twenty-three thousand five hundred pounds in her stockinged feet and was built to American specifications; heavy and robust.

  For Lassiter the decision was instant and irrevocable, cutting through the pain and focusing him.

  He dropped his starboard wing and described a curve, judging his approach perfectly, accelerating, and calling out to Mackenzie to hold tight.

  A point approximate five feet from the end of ‘Reaper’s’ starboard wing came into high speed contact with the rim of the PO2’s rear cockpit area. Metal versus canvas and wood. Metal won, carving through the position and separating what was left of the navigator from the front of the aircraft, which fell from the sky and blossomed into a fireball on the ground as bombs armed for dropping exploded on impact.