Home Front in WWIII 1946
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Home Front in WWIII 1946
Of the Security Council of the United Nations,
U.N. Temporary Headquarters,
San Francisco, California, U.S.A.
According to the by-laws governing the operations of the United Nations organization, the only Soviet diplomats with portfolio allowed to operate inside the United States were those who were assigned to this body. However, because the on-going hostilities between their nation, and the Western Powers, their movements were scrutinized in a way they had never before experienced here. In a perverse way, it made them feel at home.
As all the diplomats from the permanent members of the Security Council began to file into the chamber, the tension was so thick that it became difficult to concentrate on the issues at hand. After all, the meeting had been called at the behest of the host nation, the United States, which could not bode well for the Soviet delegates. As the ambassadors all took their seats, the delegate designated as today's meeting chair gaveled the session into order.
All of the old Security Council business was disposed of and the meeting quickly moved onto the emergency matter at hand: the attempt by the Soviet Union to take control of the United Nations by installing ambassadors from the European countries that they have overrun, especially trying to suborn France's seat on the Security Council with Stalin's own hand-picked French representative. The other three permanent members and the representative of the exiled government of France all objected strenuously, precipitating today's emergency session.
The meeting began with the ambassador from the government-in-exile of France railing against the Soviet Union's motion to replace him as lawful representative of the Fourth French Republic to the United Nations Security Council. Each of the other permanent members of the Security Council had their turn, with the United Kingdom of Great Britain and the Republic of China using their vetoes against the Soviet proposal, with the ambassadors to the Soviet Union and the United States of America yet to speak. The ambassador for the United States makes his impassioned veto and as the representative of the Soviet Union stands up to speak, the other four members of the Security Council stand up and walk out. It was understood that this would be the final snub to the Soviet Union in it's quest for legitimacy, and adjournment of the emergency session and the final dissolution of the United Nations as a working body for the adjudication of international disputes. The United Nations, as it existed that day, would never meet again.
Awaiting the Soviet diplomats when they arrived back in their temporary accomodations was a note from the United States Department of State. It gave the last Soviet citizens left legally on U.S. soil 24 hours to vacate their accommodations and leave the United States, or risk arrest as enemy agents. They were gone in less than 12.
Weapons Development in WWIII 1946
Pope Army Airfield,
Outside Fayetteville, North Carolina
General Maxwell Taylor was particularly impressed with all the hard work that he and his planners had done in advocating for and utilizing this new and novel method of warfare: the new term coined for it by the powers that be was heliborne vertical troop insertion. General Taylor used a far simpler and more appropriate term: air assault.
Over the past couple of months, General Taylor and his counterparts in the USAAF on this project were working feverishly to convert the newly-reconstituted 13th Airborne Division to Air Assault status, adding the Sikorsky H-19B and Piasecki H-25C helicopters as integral air assets of the division. This move was unprecedented as all air units, regardless of size and mission, were controlled by the USAAF command structure in support of U.S. Army missions. The helicopter aviation regiments would be modeled after the cavalry in that their mobile units would be broken down by squadron, and each squadron was paired with an airborne battalion. Over the past three weeks, General Taylor has rigorously drilled the soldiers and airmen of the 13th Airborne Division (Provisional Air Assault) until they worked as a finely-oiled machine. Today would be their final exam and their exhibition to a very select group of generals and admirals, and congressmen, who approved the project, along with the Secretary of War, Robert Patterson. They would not fail.
Reg Markham walked back home, it was lunchtime. Mabel stood in the kitchen, a worried look on her face. He knew what had come. She open handed him the envelope, a brown envelope marked OHMS. He had known this day would come, in fact, he had thought it would have come sooner.
'Don't upset yourself' he said 'I came back last time, didn't I.'
'I still don't like it.'
He put his arms around her. 'It will be all right, you do understand. Anyway I'll be here, not all over the place like last time.'
Mabel's memory went back to the last war. Reg had served in North Africa, Italy and France. Not a scratch in all that time. This time she wasn't so sure, she just had a feeling.
'Do you think it will be the Black Watch again?.'
'It doesn't say. It only says to report to the drill hall on East Road.'
'Friday morning.' Then a smile. 'What's for lunch? Anything good?'
'Well now we have more bread how about some jam sandwiches?'
'How did you get hold of jam?'
He was going to ask which one and how she had gotten hold of it, but that was something he would rather not think about. But he did, most likely Wal. After all he did for the older ones on his milk round, they tended to offer the stuff they didn't need.
50 minutes later he walked back to The Star Brewery. The whole 100 yards. When he got there he went straight to the office. To his surprise he wasn't the only one, four of them in all.
'I suppose you got a letter as well then Son?' said Mr Price
'You're right there.'
'Friday morning 07.30.'
Two of the other men laughed. 'That make three of us then Son. Back to the Black Watch?' It was a standing joke at work, a Cambridge boy wearing a skirt with a bunch of Jocks.
'It doesn't say, I just thank God I wasn't in the Cambridgeshire's.'
That made them stop laughing, his own brother in law, only just out of bed nearly a year after getting back home.
They talked for the next twenty minutes. As it was now Wednesday afternoon they would work until six and then no need to come in again. They would still have a job when they came back. If they came back. They tried not to think about that part of warfare.
Reg left home at just after 6.45 on the Friday morning, when a thought crossed his mind, would they let him keep is stripes. He was a Sargent when he was de-mobed. He arrived at the Drill Hall on East Road less the ten minutes later. He was, be no means the first there. Quite a few others were they before him including his brother, Bill. They had made the national papers the last time. Brothers Meet in Dessert was the headline. They had only seen each other Tuesday night, at the Burleigh Arms, cheap beer for the workers, as it was the Star Brewery's pub. They chatted, with some others they knew.
By 7.15 it seemed that all that were coming were there and the doors opened. The usual, big headed RSM shouted at them. He was told were to go in no uncertain terms, they were back in the army. They were ordered to form up, which they did. Then, too much their surprise a Rear Admiral addressed them. Reg thought it may be a Major, or a Lt Colonel. But an admiral thing must a lot worse than they had heard, let alone thought.
Later they were spilt in the groups depending on which branch of the services they had served in and then to down to which type of unit. As Reg had been in the infantry, so he lined up with the rest of them. There were a number of tables around the room and one by one they stepped up to the one to which they were called, Reg was one of the last, the very last in fact. He was asked for his name, rank and number, which he gave. The corporal checked the list.
'Please report to Major Whitbread, Sargent. Reg had no idea who this Major was let alone where he might be. He turned back to the corporal, but he had already left the desk. Reg had no choice but to walk around looking for officers.
He found the major without too much effort, he was the only major he could see and he was alone. Even though he was not in uniform he stood to attention and saluted. 'Sargent Markham reporting sir.'
The major returned the salute and read down the list of names he had.
'Stand easy Sargent major.'
'I'm sorry sir. It's Sargent Markham.'
Whitbread smiled 'Didn't anyone tell you? Well they mustn't have. It's Sargent major Markham now.'
'Well Markham I will now outline the duties you will have to perform.' Son listened.
The duties Company Sargent Major Markham was given was not the kind of thing he had expected, more like the Home Guard than anything else. More young men for a start, properly equipped and mobile. Many of the older men were now were air raid wardens and or serving in the small storehouses dotted around the town and just outside it. In many ways it was an easier job than working at the brewery.
Still at living home, when he could and home cooked meals. That was a very big plus. Especially as no food was going to Europe now. All his family were within a mile of each other, and so they tried to get together at least once a week. Pulling the rations together was a big plus a small joint was possible and now with a lot of veg still to pick.
It was the best they had eaten for a long time. Reg had the feeling that this was going to be very different from the last war. The German officers seemed to care about the men they commanded. The Russian didn't. More like the first war. Weight of numbers. That was what they cared about, so what if 10,000 died, plenty more where they came from, and women as well, from what he had heard. The news reels said so.
He didn't know if he could do that.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Tom picked himself up. He still couldn’t hear anything but the explosions has stopped, and the heat had died down. He could feel that least. As he looked around he could not comprehend what he saw. What had been hectors of stored aircraft and repair facilities were now smoking, burning rubble with flames reaching for the sky and smoke blotting out the sun. Incredible carnage as far as his eye could see. He only had one eye now as a result of the second explosion that had knocked him down as he tried to man his dual 40 mm anti-aircraft gun. He may have nicked the plane that took his eye, but he couldn't be sure. He couldn't even walk straight, probably something to do with his ears.
One eyed and deaf he wandered around trying to avoid the biggest fires and to search for anyone else. He found a wounded woman and tried to help her, but she screamed and curled up into a ball when she looked at him. At least it looked like she was screaming. Mouth open and that look of shock and fear. Yeah she was screaming only he couldn't hear her. He then felt the something kind of bouncing on his cheek and realized it was his left eye. No wonder she screamed. What the hell do you do with an eye that’s hanging out of its socket? Do you try and put it back? He felt tired and collapsed near the curled up woman.
The piece of charred acreage that Tom was dying on was the home of the former RAF Maintenance and Aircraft Recovery unit 14 stationed in Carlisle. Hundreds of old Spitfires had been transported here for repair and refurbishing. Parts were cannibalized and swapped by the thousands. Hundreds of Spits had been rebuilt almost as good as new by the hundreds of skilled craftsman who used to live and work here. Now the Spitfires where pieces of burning junk and many of the skilled artisans were dead or dying. Tom was one of them. He could make a Merlin hum. Now he couldn't even hear one even if he hadn't passed out.
No one had thought to harden or even defend in detail this bone yard of World War Two surplus Spitfires that were about to be refurbished. Parked in neat rows ready for this or that part, they had been easy to destroy. All lined up ready for the cluster bombs and napalm of the Soviet bombers and fighters. Who had thought that the VVS could reach Carlisle in force? Who thought the Soviets knew about Carlisle and its gold mine of spare parts and mothballed Spits? Who thought that the Soviets knew where the most talented scroungers and scavengers in the United Kingdom were concentrated on this day?
Nineteen other bone yards had been attacked and all but two destroyed. Thirteen of the largest RAF Maintenance Units had ceased to exist as a unit today. 982 surplus Spitfires were destroyed along with hundreds of other aircraft. The greatest loss was to the highly trained mechanics and ground crews. The end result of the first 1000 plane raids by the VVS was that there were not more than a hundred surplus Spitfires available for the next three months and barely enough personnel to put them back together again. The attacks devastated the moral of the RAF in the short term. Shocked the British people and government into an almost catatonic state and brought home the fact that there was nowhere to hide from the Soviet Voyenno-Vozdushnye Sily.
Every inch of the British Isles was within range of a massive enemy air force and once again a small but determined few would attempt to save their small nation from an attack from above.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
September 24th, 1946
The RAF raid was not a disaster. It went pretty much as planned. The VVS rose to the occasion and gave as good as they got. It was noted that the vast majority of Soviet fighters were of the Yak 3 and La 7 variety. Short range fighters for the most part which made sense since they were on the defensive. Losses on both sides were acceptable unless you were the wife, mother, father, child or sweet heart of the fallen. Then it was devastating.
Each side lost 50 or so aircraft from all sources. The majority of the Soviet pilots that survived lived to fight again and the majority of the 53 British pilots were killed or captured as they bailed out or crashed into the Belgian country side. It was a fact at the Germans learned in the First Battle of Britain that the side that was on the offensive lost the majority of their crews shot down over enemy territory.
What happened next was startling to the RAF radar operators, and then Fighter Command. Just as the majority of the RAF fighters and bombers returning from the raid crossed into British territory, two Soviet 1000 plane raids were detected forming over Brest and Ringkobing in Denmark. By the time the RAF fighters had all landed these massive raids had started to cross the Channel. One seemed headed towards Wales and the other Scotland.
Fighter Command started to look at their charts and maps with increasing urgency to try and figure out where these swarms of planes where headed. They had no idea of the targets destined for destruction until minutes before the bombs fell. Then they were dumbstruck and enraged at themselves for not predicting where the raids were going and what was to befall the virtually unguarded machines and workers targeted.
The route taken by each separate 1000 plane raid circumvented the largest concentrations of radar guided AA guns and few kills were made. At a pre-designated spot on the map the huge raids split into smaller groupings and headed towards different targets yet stayed within support of each other.
The target in the cross hairs of the Soviet bombers and fighters bombers were not defended well. No one had thought of them as primary or even secondary targets worthy of a major Soviet attack. The victims on the ground of these massive attacks could only look around themselves in horror as the bombs started to scream down upon their heads. Each one seemed to be aimed directly at them, but of course they weren’t. The strafing Yak 9DD fighter bombers were indeed aiming at them however. They seemed to be purposefully targeting personnel and places where valuable mechanics, engineers, armorers and grounds crewmen would be trying to hide from the cluster bombs and Soviet version of napalm bombs that were raining down. The Yak 9s with the 37mm cannons punched holes in whatever material got in their way including skin and bone.
The parachute slowed cluster bombs and napalm bomblets started terrible fires and chewed through their intended targets like a whip saw through butter. Huge swaths of destruction followed in each of the Tu2S medium bomber’s wake. Traveling at over 500 km an hour, these proven workhorses of the VVS left devastation behind them. Massacring the few AA crews who valiantly tried to defend the un-defensible. Too few for so many targets. Too few for so many flammable concentrations of fuel. Too few for so many piles of ammunition, oil soaked rags and tires. Too few to even defend themselves.
After the bombs fell the various mini raids once again gathered together into two flying armadas and continued on their way. Fighter Command did an admirable job of rearming and forming Big Wings to pursue. The vast majority of the landing fighters from the previous British raid landed in 12 Group while a smaller number of squadrons were kept behind stationed in 11 Group for defense. 13 Group was filled with older planes and newer pilots. They were held back for training purposes, and they were now about to be thrown into the fire. The turnaround time for the fighters in 12 Group was admirable, but the Big Wings from 13 Group were able to reach the enemy first.
To their displeasure the Spitfires of 13 Group discovered that the Tu2S sans its bomb load made a formidable heavy fighter. Tough, agile and with massive fire power, they flew with wingmen and covered each other like wingmen should. If you got on the leader’s tail, the wingman slew around and either scared you off or shot you down. Now add into the mix the fact that there were hoards of Yak 9s also in the mix which made the odds a good 8 to one. You had a real challenge on your hands. The Tu2S did not drone on in formation but actually turned to dogfight.
Now normally this would have been a reasonably one sided affair, but when you add into the mix the Yak 9s, and you had a real tiger by the tail. A target rich environment to be sure… yet a targeted rich environment, as well. Needless to say, not many attacks were pressed home by either side. Losses were few as a Spitfire would maneuver onto the tail of the slower less nimble yet jinking and turning Tu2S Bat only to have his wingman expertly get on the leading Spitfire’s tail only to have the Tu2 wingman have his tail placed in danger by the wingman of the lead Spitfire only to have that Spitfire threatened by up to four Yak 9s. The Tu2S also had the distinct advantage of two rear firing gunners and substantial front facing firepower as well. The Spitfire who took on a Tu2s from head on or even front at an angle found himself facing a lot of lead.
Because of the utter surprise, the Yak 9DDs had made full use of their wing tanks and had plenty of fuel to carry the dogfight on for as long as they needed. There was no running home because of lack of fuel.
No having only 10 minutes of combat time over the target like the Germans in 1940. The Yak 9DDs code named Long Franks were in this for the long term and were not running. The Tu2S Bats had a range of over 2000 km. By the time many of the Group 12 Big Wings were able to catch up to the fast bombers the two 1000 plane raids had joined up into one massive 2000 plane swarm. One raid started a circular route from the South near Brest, France and other from the East in Denmark. The squadrons of 12 Group had to make the choice to attack head on or to waste time maneuvering for a better attack position. A number of frustrated Squadron commanders from 12 Group made the choice to bore right in and received a warm welcome from the two forward firing Barezin B-20 cannons of the Tu2S. It is an unwelcome match for the two 20mm cannons of your own machine. No, the Tu2S Bat did not die easily and could take quite a bit of punishment.
All in all, a very frustrating day for both groups of fighters who could not stay on each other’s tails long enough to get a good burst in. There was a lot of deflection shooting with remarkably few hits. Fighter Command blinked first, as the British radar on the coast caught the first ghostly echoes of another massive Soviet raid coming into range over France. They appeared to be headed towards London. Group 13 then Group 12 were recalled before the makeup of the newest massive group was discovered. They were the short range fighters escorting Pe 2s code named Bucks who turned around before land fall. A feint that had worked.
Losses were relatively low on both sides. 21 Tu2s, 24 Yaks, 29 Spitfires. The British jets did not have the range to participate in the fight. Hardly the decisive battle each would have wanted to win. As the fast bombers with their trusty escorts flew back unmolested towards the Channel heads were spinning in Fighter Command. Some were sure to roll as well. The Soviets had utterly destroyed their intended targets without losing more than a handful of planes. The loss of the targets attacked could prove utterly devastating to the RAF in a short term battle with the VVS.
It’s a clear cold night, and he was shivering despite his Home Guard Great coat. Somehow a cold night on the Channel seemed to go right through your clothes no matter how many layers you put on. He had dressed light tonight because he expected to have to move fast. He was going to make his rounds a little faster in the beginning using the excuse that he dressed too light for the weather. In realty he was counting on spending more time transmitting this latest message. He had been told it was crucial. Something about another raid on the Soviet air fields across the way. He was to send it twice at two different locations. Neither of which he had transmitted from before.
Transmitted was a big word for just using his flashlight. It must be working, or he would have heard about it. There were checks and balances in place he was told, and so far he was doing well above average for a commie spy.
Yes, that’s what he was, a commie spy and that was okay. If it meant that the relative slavery in the coal mines would stop, then that’s what it would take. He never imagined that the Soviet Army would ever set foot on the British Isles, but he did think that losing the air war would bring about a fall of the government and a British version of communism would take hold and put an end to the worse degradation's of British capitalism. He had to believe that, or there was no hope. In his mind he was a true Englishman.
Buggers, he was 2 minutes later than planned. Still plenty of time for the first transmission. It was clear as can be tonight. He would have no possible bounce back from low lying fog or waves. It should be a perfect night for it. He had stopped trying to figure out the code for the string of numbers he transmitted. Seemed pretty short to be of any consequences which suited him just fine. The less time it took the better.
He missed the fog horn and beam that used to emanate from the lighthouse. War had a way of taking away the familiar and replacing it with horror.
Levrentiy Beria turned his thoughts from the rape of the young women in the next room to the list in front of him. It was hard to make the transition from the pleasures of the flesh, to thoughts of war, but not impossible. He had done it many times. Stalin had interrupted any number of sexual assaults, He had to run to the Cripple’s side and pretend that nothing was wrong any number of times. He had to lick the boots of the only man in the world who terrified him. So far he had been able to leave the pleasure he was experiencing and endured the torture of being in Stalin’s presence, so far.
Someday…soon, he would have the pleasure of strangling the pock marked cripple with his own hands. At least that is what he fantasized about. Someday, but not today.
The list gave him almost as much pleasure as the young Georgian virgin he has just brutally attacked. On the list was his stable of spies spread throughout the world. Spies whose positions ranged from janitors and cooks to one of the men sitting next to President Truman. Spies who help decide what the vast factories of the Americans made and more importantly what they didn’t make. Amazing how one little piece of metal or a small spring, not produced in time, could do to a bomber, a tank or even the ammunition that each used.
The recruiter for the agents in the American War Production Board was incredible. He maybe too amazing. He would have to be interrogated to learn why he was so successful and possibly eliminated. You cannot have such a person, such an impressive recruiter, loose and uncontrolled.
The War Production Board had been called back into being, and many of his former agents where again deciding what should be produced and what shouldn't His agents did their job when America was producing the endless streams of bombers and tanks used to defeat the Nazi scum. They helped their allies make the right choices at the right time. They did anything to keep Lend Lease spewing forth its seemingly endless supply of war material. America went from producing 6,000 aircraft in 1940 to 85,000 in 1943 alone.
Now the situation had changed. With the Army Air Force switching to new jet planes and munitions, it would be quite understandable, if their production dropped dramatically and quality suffered with the transition. Yes, eventually the mistakes and errors would be discovered as deliberate. By that time the industrial and scientific might of the Soviet Union would be a match for even the Amerikanski. The Capitalist system was doomed, and the Communist system would prevail even without sabotage. It just needed time, and he would provide that time.
What did it matter that agents like Silvermaster, Perlo, Glazer and Fitzgerald were uncovered. By that time the war would be lost for the capitalists, and they would be expendable. Even the agents throughout the OSS like Neuann, Wheeler, Graze, Halperin and agent “Koch” could be replaced at will it seemed. Although Koch would be hard to replace. It would be hard to replace a man like Duncan Lee who is the Confidential Assistant to the so called “Wild Bill” Donovan head of the OSS.
The list went on and on. Many parts of the Capitalist scientific and weapons production programs were especially full of his agents. Everything from one of his agents smuggling out a machine gun prototype to the plans for the atomic bomb fell into his hands. Most of the major weapons of the Americans and British had been compromised. He had even engineered the defection of one of the leading designers of the newest Amerikosi jet engine. He knew as much or more about each than did Truman. Of particular note was the fact that he knew about the atomic bomb a full year before Truman did. It was pretty shocking yet true. Sometimes history is stranger than fiction.
And then of course, there was George Koval or agent Delmar, the man who stopped the production of the capitalist atomic bomb. The last message they had was that he was about to cross over the border to Canada, then nothing. Maybe the Mounted Police ran him over with their horses, somehow this was quit an amusing thought. The world’s greatest assassin run over by a bunch of red coated cowboys. The man who used the world’s only supply of polonium to kill and cripple over a thousand of the West’s leading scientists.
The fact that thousands of their family members suffered also was of no concern. Delmar had undoubtedly saved hundreds of thousands of his countrymen’s lives. Imagine letting loose the world’s most deadly substance in a crowded room of atomic scientists and engineers not once, but twice by using small explosive devices in the air circulation system. George Koval was indeed a hero of the Soviet Union and would someday receive the recognition he deserved. George Koval the killer of the atomic bomb, at least for now.
Thanks to his spies and agents the Soviet Union was dictating the direction of the war. They were keeping the capitalists wondering where the next blow would fall. Keeping them back on their heels and reacting. They had to keep innovating. They had to keep pressing the advantages they had at the moment. They had to keep making the NATO forces on the defensive. His life and the survival of the Soviet Union depended upon it. As long as that strange little Sergo person kept creating his wonders and that Georgy kept producing them, they would prevail.
He wondered how those Amerikosi movie starlets will react when they are alone in a room with Levrentiy Beria. Alone with a man who had killed and raped hundreds. Alone with a man who lived to rape and terrorize young women. Dragged from their pampered lives and alone with a man who did not see them as human, just an object to be used and thrown away. Yes it would be most amusing.