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Book One World War Three 1946

Book One World War Three 1946
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Saturday, March 24, 2012

Diary of Burt Post Sept. 9th, 1946

Some doctor died today who was scheduled to appear before the judges in Canada. They moved the trials of the Nazis to Toronto from Nuremberg for obvious reasons. Although I'm sure Stalin would like to get his hands on some more of those murderous bastards. I guess this doctor poison himself rather than stand trial. Good riddance if you ask me. I don't like the death penalty but if some guy feels so guilty that he'll commit suicide I say give him the pills.

Looks like a bumper crop of food this year for us. I know Europe was hurting even before the war. I wonder if Stalin would stop this foolishness if we offered him some grain or food? He did give back those prisoners so I guess he's not as insane as the press makes him out to be. I kind of admired the guy and the Red Army for what they did to Hitler.

Ede slept pretty good last night. I guess you can only cry for so long.

I'll try and find some vegetables at the farmers market today and get some fresh farm grown food in the house. Maxine can't do the shopping yet. Maybe I'll drive down to Lodi next weekend while I'm in Madison. It's just a little out of the way and my Maxine's uncle runs a canning factory.

I'll see if he can spare a case or two of something. Nice of the company to let me use a car. I guess that last patent I worked up for them is going to pay off after all. I hope they changed that left rear tire. It was almost bald last time I used that car. They say that the rationing shouldn't be too bad this time. After all the Reds don't have a navy to shut down our imports.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Soviet Ilyushin 10 Heavy Attack Aircraft Pilot Chapter 2

A poster appeared at the barracks "Future Airmen and Parachutists were invited to pull up stumps and build an aerodrome and hangers for gliders and planes." Well if they needed stumps pulled we would go after work and pull some stumps. To be honest flying had always been a dream and now maybe this poster would be my chance. I would pull so many stumps they would have to let me fly out of embarrassment. How could they not let the best stump puller in the world fly?

I headed for the given address to sign up. The next week I went for a physical and was pronounced fit. Next was the oral exam and I fell asleep waiting to be called up. I heard my name and jumped up out of a sound sleep and not yet fully awake rushed into the office. I was asked extensive questions about my family and then some geography questions. After getting and easy question wrong I mentally slapped myself and told myself that if I wanted to become a pilot I had better wake up...NOW. It seemed to work and I was almost perfect from there on in.

The next meeting I found out my fate was to fly gliders and not planes. I was very disappointed but determined to be the best glider pilot I could be so they had to let me fly a real plane.

We studied all winter and it was hard to combine work and studies but it had to be. That spring we started gliding. We took off from a high bank over the Moscow river and hovered. The gliders were launched in a very primitive way. The trainee pilot would be shot into the air by the rest of us like a sling shot. If you were lucky you could last for 2 to 3 minutes of gliding and then it was back to pulling on the elastic bands to shoot others into the sky. Every day that summer I would go to the bank of the river and sling others into the air for my chance to fly for 3 minutes.

In October 1934 a test train of two red wagons road the Metro. We shouted and sang songs, ran after the wagon, hugged and danced. By May 1935 the Metro was open for public use and our Comsomol organization was awarded the Order of Lenin.

In flying club we studied flight theory, aerial navigation, meteorology and the "Flight Operations Manual" for the U-2 trainer. By Springtime we would take the train to Malye Vyazemy and walk a kilometer through the woods to our aerodrome where there was a large field with buildings and hangers. We were sternly drilled that the "Flight Operations Manual" was written in blood and was not to be taken lightly.

We learned the basics on a plane mounted on a pedestal, manipulating the levers and how the different parts of the plane worked. We also learned from the mechanics how the engine worked and how to repair it if need be.

A week before I was to go into the sky for the first time my job was to prepare grout from cement, sand and other components to fill the seam of the walls of the Metro. It was difficult to do with gloves on so I took them off and started grouting with my bare hands. After the shift I washed my hands and there was no skin on them and they hurt terribly. "What about flying?" the voice in my head screamed.

A the end of the second 5 day week my hands had skinned over and I immediately went to the aeroclub. Never would I put my hands in jeopardy again in such a foolish manner.

The day of my first flight had come. "To your planes" the instructor ordered. One by one we took our turns for our first flight. When my turn came and after I was strapped in the instructor spoke to me through the speaking tube. I was instructed to hold the levers softly and memorize the movements. After the third turn the instructor shouted "steer the plane." It was very unexpected and as I struggled with the pedals and the stick the machine would not obey my movements. It seemed like an eternity and I knew my flying days were numbered. I could not control that bucking beast. Besides that I was terrified.

The instructor took over, after it was apparent that I had failed, with not a word. After we had landed I expected to be thrown out of the program and was quite miserable looking I'm sure. He looked at me and said "no one succeeds on their first go". It was a reprieve. I was saved. I lived to fly another day.

The King's Visit by Tallthinkev

'What the bloody hell is going on here!' shouted Jack. 

From what he could see Wilhelm had Tom in a head lock, while Tom was lifting Wilhelm off the ground.

'Quiet it down twenty paces, bugger me,' said Jack softer now 'what were you two doing?'
'Well we were just showing each other what we would to the Russians, if they get here.' said Tom
'Don't talk silly lad. They won't get here, Hitler couldn't and didn't!'.

A few days later, the canteen was packed, BBC vans parked outside.

They all knew what was going to happen, after all Workers Playtime had been on the Home Service for years now, the only question was who was going to be here today. Trying to get near the stage was difficult but not impossible. Jack could see the bandstand double H on the music stands, that was the music sorted out then, he thought.

'Sodding heck' muttered Jack 'not them two.'
'What was that Mr Smith' said Wilhelm
'Gert and bloody Daisy. I can't stick them'
'My mum likes them' said Tom
'Your mum would' said Jack

The announcer stepped right up to the microphone. 'Ladies and gentlemen, Workers Playtime.'

Well over an hour later they were back at work. A lot of the women there were still hanging around wanting to talk to, or even just to touch Henry Hall.

Jack was now dividing his time between two of the hangers, the one with the engines and the other, were he was teaching fabric work.

Yes the Anson's were out of date for bombing but still one of the best aircraft to teach navigation and wireless operators. They still needed someone in the turret just in case. He was glad it was no longer himself. He had been up there too many times as far as he was concerned. There used to be a little extra in his pay packet. A few bob more was not enough to make up to Gwen if he was dead, let alone to his young children.

Later in the week, there was much excitement. Three cars turned up the second, a Rolls, contained the King.

The King toured the airport talked to many people including himself. The newsreel was there as well. It captured his conversation the his majesty, genial small talk. It meant so much to Jack, the proudest moment of his life!

It then came the bitter news.

The King was dead.

On the way back from Cambridge, travelling towards Royston a horse had got loose. The Kings car tried to miss it and had gone in to one of the high hedges that lined the road. Even as John Snagg
read the news his voice wavered. There then followed an address by the Prime Minster, which ended 'The King is dead. Long live the Queen.

A new page of history had turned.

What would Stalin make of this? Something about the oppression of the working class no doubt and how they were now liberated, What a bastard, Jack was thinking. 


A lot of tears, when he got to Wilbraham.
His son John, didn't understand, kings were there forever. More, he didn't know why the Queen wasn't queen anymore and was now called the Queen Mother.

The reign of Elizabeth II had begun.