Iron Dogs and Caesar's Ruby

by Dave R. Mortensen

  Their very private talk delved into the troubles of the USSR and people they knew then Nuryev suddenly remembered something and removed a sealed envelope from inside his tunic. “I almost forgot,” he said as he placed it on the desk. “It was in an envelope in my post station the day before I packed. Whoever it is from must have known where I was going – there was a note with it to deliver it to you personally.”

  Kovpak looked at it and assumed it was simply a courtesy letter from a former comrade in the training command. Since it was obviously nothing official, rather than interrupting their reunion he casually slipped it into his desk drawer.

  As they talked Kovpak could tell Nuryev was somewhat disappointed he would not have the opportunity to be involved in the deployment of new jet aircraft that were being designed. To set his friend’s mind at ease he decided to confide even more. “I think you will live longer here,” he advised warily. “You may not know it ... few do ... we are experiencing some difficulties with jet propulsion.”

  Nuryev’s face gradually shifted toward one of deep concern.

  The senior officer shrugged slightly and looked resigned to reality. “You probably are not aware, of course. The Americans and British have already worked through most of them,” Kovpak admitted.

  “But with the German technology—”

  Kovpak raised a hand and shook his head. “The German engines are ... the best word is what? ‘Problematic’.”

  “Problematic,” Nuryev repeated warily.

  “And our aircraft designs are requiring more powerful engines. You will do well to not be among the first to fly them,” he advised solemnly.

  Nuryev thought about that news for a moment then seemed to slump in his chair. “I have to admit Helena is pleased to see me on the ground,” he said with a touch of dismay, then smiled as he changed the subject by adding, “but I have good news – I am going to ask her to marry me.”

  Kovpak bounced his fist on his desk lightly as he whispered enthusiastically, “Excellent, Anton!” then his mood changed to one of resignation and sympathy. “It is unfortunate Berlin is in no condition to bring her here.”

  Nuryev sighed. “I understand. We will have to wait.”

  Kovpak scowled and nodded as he took a puff on his cigarette. “Maybe not too long. Spring perhaps.” He shook his head in dismay then explained with shaping movements of his hands. “Most of Berlin is nothing but collected mountains of rubble. There are probably two million people here ... ten percent of the sewers are in working order.”

  “I saw some of it from the air ... it’s hard to believe there are people living here.”

  “Food, Anton,” Kovpak continued grimly. “Food ... every day ... the first and the last problem is food. The Germans ... for the most part they are civilians ... they have no grasp of what is involved in supporting a population.” He gestured with his cigarette as if making a circle and added, “Needless to say we do not venture out into parts of our sector without escort ... keep that in mind.”

  With due consideration Nuryev said, “Desperation can turn even pets into wolves.”

  The Colonel nodded then took out a piece of official stationery and hand-wrote a one-paragraph letter, signed it and passed it across the desk to Nuryev. “If you show this to the officious son-of-a-mongrel superintendant of that building he will have electricity and perhaps even hot water in an apartment in a day or two. Then you can move from the officer’s quarters.”

  When Nuryev seemed confused Kovpak grinned slyly. “We pay him to let officers live in the building. There are other buildings we could use but he has friends ... you will hear of them ... the new Socialist Unity Party. For now, he can keep the electricity on and the water running even when our official influence has failed.”

  “Thank you, Colonel,” Nuryev said gratefully.

  Kovpak leaned back then sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger for a moment. “It is a political quagmire ... be careful who you talk to and what you say. There is much you will have to learn in the weeks to come.”

  Nuryev nodded slowly with concern at the gravity his mentor was displaying. “I understand,” he offered.

  The Colonel took another drag on his cigarette then tapped the ash in the tray and spoke through the exhaled smoke. “And ... and ... our glorious allies meddle in things they should not. The Americans and British have been particularly focused on scientists,” he said with some admiration in his tone. “They were going after them at Peenemunde even before the little pissant corporal killed himself. And we know of others ... some ... even men who are guilty of the most grievous offenses are still disappearing.”

  Nuryev scowled then took a drink of vodka. “To where? Could it be they are being prosecuted?”

  Kovpak shook his head with a grim look on his face. “No ... no, Anton. In fact they are being rewarded for their mental prowess. They can take full advantage of this situation to escape punishment.”

  “These are civilians?” Nuryev asked incredulously.

  Kovpak shook his head. “Both. Civilian scientists and officers.”

  Like many officers that had survived the war Nuryev shared in a visceral hatred for the Nazis – especially those that had commanded their war machine. Some of the units with the tacit approval, if not the explicit orders of their officers, had engaged in atrocities against Soviet soldiers and even civilians on a massive scale. And like most of his fellow Red Air Force officers, he was either unaware of, or chose to not recognize the same kinds of acts Soviet commanders had ruthlessly engaged in.

  “Until recently, the Kremlin has been content with relocating German factories and workers,” Kovpak explained. “But ... that is going to change soon. Very soon. Come next month we will be conducting Operation Osoaviakhim.”

  Nuryev squinted slightly. “Should I know this?”

  Kovpak nodded somberly. “You should, indeed. We will participate in the selection of the aviation scientists and specialists that will be relocated from Germany.”

  “Relocating them ... the Germans? Really?” Nuryev asked with some confusion.

  “Comrade Stalin does not trust them, especially in such close proximity to our allies. We do not have enough eyes to watch them all.”

  The younger officer shook his head then asked very quietly out of curiosity, “So ... you, you are in contact with the Americans?”

  Kovpak crushed out his cigarette and shook his head. “For now, Colonel Petrov is my equivalent in dealings with the Americans. We, this office ... we deal only with the British. Which is the primary purpose for you being here.” Kovpak grinned slightly. “After Operation Osoaviakhim is substantially underway we have an opportunity to acquire a number of their RB.41 engines ... their production jet engines.”

  Nuryev looked doubtful. “You know I am certainly no expert on turbines.”

  Kovpak chuckled slightly. “An engine is just thrust ... useless without a pilot, my friend. We know they are already replacing it with a more powerful version because we have learned they have licensed that design to the Americans. The details of our offer are yet to be worked out – but I want fresh eyes and ears when we see one of their Vampire prototypes.”

  “They will let us examine one?” Nuryev asked almost incredulously.

  “Fly one,” Kovpak corrected and nodded. “A two seat trainer powered by the RB.41. I want someone with recent training command experience to fly with their pilot – to observe and to ask questions,” he added, pointing at Nuryev. He saw the look of growing excitement and smiled. “I thought that would raise your spirits.”

  Nuryev tapped the ash off his cigarette as he said, “You are right as usual, Colonel.”

  “Their Vampire is a proven design, Anton. I would not risk you in an experiment,” Kovpak confided. “Now ... before any of that can happen ... this is Berlin ... you have to get properly settled. The motor pool is behind this building. There are two drivers on duty at our disposal at all times. Have one of them take you
to the address on that letter – just have him wait while you get your apartment arranged and he can return you to the barracks to collect your belongings and get you back before dark. And make sure one of them will pick you up to get you here Monday at 0700. I will introduce you to the staff and put you to work.”

  “I am forever grateful, Colonel. Truly grateful.”

  Kovpak gave him a doubtful look with an accompanying grin. “Do not thank me too much just yet, Anton – you have not seen much of Berlin and winter is on its way.”

  - # -

  As Nuryev went down the broad flight of stairs to the grandiose foyer, he saw a man dressed in civilian clothes that had just come through the doors and was being cleared by the pair of sentries.

  As they passed each other Nuryev nodded and said, “Dobroe utro,” (good morning), Comrade,” and received the same in response.

  The man abruptly stopped just two steps later and turned around. “Comrade Major, pardon my asking – do you work here, in this building? I’m looking for a Colonel Kovpak, perhaps you might—?”

  Nuryev interrupted pleasantly, “Of course, Comrade. The Colonel’s offices are on the third floor, to the left from the top of the stairs, almost to the end,” he said waving in that direction.

  “Thank you Comrade Major,” the man said and nodded, then turned and strode toward the stairs.

 

  - # -

  Kovpak retrieved the privately-addressed envelope Nuryev had delivered from his desk and opened it expectantly without undue concern but after reading the short letter a second and third time his curiosity turned to alarm. Secrets and oaths, he thought.

  The sudden knock from the outer office door only added to his sense of impending danger. That’s not Anton, he concluded, slipping the letter and envelope back into his desk drawer.

  With his mind racing over the message he had just received his instincts took hold and he picked up his personal weapon before walking to his office door. Seeing the shadow of someone in the corridor against the glass, he kept the gun behind him then moved across the small space and opened the door a few inches.

  The man he saw looked up at the small sign above the door and then back at him. “Comrade Colonel Kovpak?” When the Colonel didn’t immediately respond he added, “I am Igor Olnikov, Ministry of State Security.”

  Kovpak thought it odd that the man was not in uniform and he made no move as if to invite the stranger in. Instead he fixed him with a chilly stare. “None of the Intelligence Ministry staff are here today, Comrade.”

  Olnikov reached up and into his heavy outer coat which caused Kovpak to move slightly – just enough to let the agent see the pistol. Instead of overreacting to the Colonel’s tensed body language and the gun, Olnikov slowly and calmly fished an envelope from inside his suit then removed the contents and held them out to Kovpak. “My orders are from Comrade Stalin. I thought it best to speak with you privately.”

  As Kovpak examined the document Olnikov added, “Your office was very busy yesterday ... the superintendant of your apartments said you would be here this morning.”

  The idiot superintendant has a loose tongue, Kovpak thought. After skimming the document again he looked at the man without any hint of fear. “You understand we have to be cautious – not everyone is who they say they are,” he said then relaxed his stance and became almost congenial. “Come in, Comrade ... by some miracle of Wehrmacht engineering there is heat in my office.” He turned and gestured toward an ornate circular rack. “You can leave your coat here.”

  Kovpak realized what he had read only moments before the knock on his office door could very well have saved his life: ‘We were told nothing’, he was reminded by someone who had been interviewed by the man now in his office.

  - # -

  With Olnikov making notes, Kovpak started at the very beginning, revealing details about the mission that would never have been disclosed had it not been for the orders the agent carried. He outlined how that instead of being part of the groups that were to be trained by Americans in the USSR in Lend Lease aircraft, his small group had been ordered to England. He went on to describe the passage through the Arctic and how secretive their quarters were at the Smolnya aerodrome.

  Kovpak lit a cigarette before continuing. “There were spies everywhere, Comrade, as you probably know better than I.”

  Olnikov responded blandly, “Some things remain the same.”

  “Indeed ... but at that time it was important to set up a way to expedite the delivery of those types through Tehran. I estimate the schedule was advanced by several months as a result of the mission.”

  “And General Krylov did not confide in you any other purpose?”

  Kovpak showed no sign of concern. “He did not.” He waited several seconds with his eyes locked on the investigator’s and added, “We did not question our orders,” he added assertively.

  Olnikov nodded slowly in understanding even though his own curiosity was far from satisfied. “What were you told?”

  After taking a drag on his cigarette and exhaling, Kovpak leaned back in his chair and removed a tiny fragment of tobacco from his tongue with his thumb and forefinger. “We were told that the objective was to get the four leads, of which I was one, to Tehran. The two escorts in each flight were actually considered expendable should we encounter the Luftwaffe ... or more likely at that time, one of our own pilots who did not recognize the planes as ours.”

  The thought of being shot down by another of your own comrades by mistake seemed alarming to Olnikov but his expression didn’t change as he asked, “Why were those four —why were they so important?”

  Kovpak shrugged slightly and drew on his cigarette before he answered. “The four most qualified navigators and instructors. We had the best chance of completing the mission. We also had a slight advantage in range and maneuverability ... our wing armament and ammunition had been removed.”

  Knowing little or nothing about aircraft armament Olnikov asked simply, “You flew unarmed?”

  Kovpak shook his head. “No, the Airacobra also had two fifty caliber machine guns and a twenty millimeter cannon in the fuselage ... in the nose,” he said pointing forward.

  But the wing guns were removed, Olnikov thought. “And without the guns in the wings ... this is a substantial amount of weight?”

  “Indeed,” Kovpak said nodding. “They were British seven-point-seven millimeter ... two in each wing, with belts of ammunition out toward the wingtips ... five hundred rounds in each wing ... fifteen kilograms plus about that much for each weapon ... forty-five kilograms on each side.”

  Olnikov again considered the likelihood of there being something on board the plane but rather than reveal anything by asking Kovpak a question he made a mental note to examine an Airacobra in Moscow to see for himself.

  Kovpak decided to explain further and he extended his hands out to his sides and raised and lowered them alternately. “It is a feeling from the stick, Comrade. Weight significantly changes how a plane rolls. I flew them with and without guns in training.”

  The little Olnikov knew about airplanes was enough to convince him that Kovpak was telling him the truth but his curiosity was becoming even more acute. He eyed the Colonel closely and asked, “Did you ever learn, perhaps at some later time if something else might have been taken by your planes to Tehran?”

  Kovpak shook his head dismissively and laughed slightly. “Ah, the rumors ... no ... no, and I have not given it any thought, Comrade. I learned from General Krylov that the mission was successful. The war went on ... we all had other responsibilities. It was just one mission.”

  “A highly secretive one,” Golikov noted.

  After regarding the agent for several seconds Kovpak said, “You realize, Comrade, any future discussion was forbidden. I have not spoken of it with anyone until this day. I am violating my oath based solely on the orders you showed me.”

  Olnikov nodded gravely. “As I understand it you did not reach one o
f the locations ... one of the waypoints.”

  He certainly has talked to Vitolkin, Kovpak reminded himself. “Correct. I failed to reach Aqtobe.”

  “I will save the two of us some time, Colonel. You and I may never know the reason, but Comrade Stalin wants your plane found.”

  Kovpak had already sensed where the man’s questions were heading and for effect he chuckled in amusement at the absurdity. “The plane? Whatever for?”

  Olnikov didn’t seem to share in Kovpak’s dismissive view of the idea. “Comrade Stalin insists,” he said evenly. “I am not in a position to question orders, either.”

  After a few moments Kovpak shrugged slightly. “Well then ... I can only tell you what I remember, Comrade,” he said candidly, knowing there would be things he would not reveal.

  “Go on,” Olnikov urged.

  “Somewhere just south of Ufa we were attacked by three enemy aircraft. Both of my escorts turned and engaged them and drove them off. But they both sustained damage and returned to the Ufa aerodrome. I know I continued as orders required but sometime later I must have had a mechanical failure. Apparently, I bailed out and was injured ... or I may have even crashed. To this day I still do not know which. According to the doctors my head injuries damaged my memory. The only thing I can recall with any certainty is regaining consciousness on a train.”

  Olnikov knew from his review of the scanty medical records he had obtained that the man was telling him the truth about his failed memory. “And is there anything you might be able to tell me that might narrow down the location?”

  Kovpak crushed out the last stub of his cigarette. “No, but fortunately, I can do something to assist you.”

  Olnikov was surprised. “What is that?”

  Kovpak leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. “Comrade, if nothing else, the Nazis were fastidious, particularly the Luftwaffe. We are in possession of the archival records of the Luftwaffe. I can grant you access to them. In fact, I can arrange an interpreter ... the three planes my group encountered on that date would have reported the engagement during their debriefing. They are commonly known as ‘after action reports’. They would include the coordinates. They were reconnaissance planes. Messerschmitts ... older bf-110s.”