Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (58 page)

Now he was at eighteen thousand feet over
Northern Germany
,
wrestling with an unresponsive and failing aircraft, desperately trying to get his charge to the right point to release the bombs and then get her home.

Other aircraft had already attacked, and the ground appeared to be moving, mainly because of the shadows that danced so lively on the earth, stirred to greater efforts by each further explosion.

It was also moving because of what looked like ants, spilling from hiding places, desperate to find cover away from the storm.

Briefed to look out for the right colour group, it was the radio operator who spotted the green/yellow markers, with the purple to the north-west and red/yellow to the north-east.

Black lined up the
aircraft and checked the bombing height was at the correct eighteen thousand feet. Then
the bomb-aimer took over.

Experienced pilots knew better than to let their attention wander but not Black, the absence of enemy activity and clarity of vision causing him to miss a vital instrument’s warning.

The bomb-aimer called him from his reverie and Black had control as the bombs dropped from their rails, a full load of 500lb general-purpose cookies and four Small Bomb Containers, each holding
two hundred and thirty-six 4lb
charges.

The aircraft from 626 Squadron targeted on the area unloaded on top of the intact
Soviet
1091
st
Gun-Artillery R
egiment, weapons, vehicles and crew all secreted in a small wood just
north of R
oute
214, to the north-west of Hambühren.
.

The results were devastating
,
and the 1091st would take no part in any combat action
from that time forward
, the few survivors being sent to other units to try and make good some of their losses.

However, Black’s inattentiveness had condemned him and his crew, despite him finally noticing the defective altimeter
,
now reading fifteen thousand.

He opened the throttles, only to be greeted by sounds of destruction from the starboard inner as something vital came apart under the additional strain.

Correcting the sudden dip of the starboard wing, Black tried to feather the engine
, without success.
T
he prop refused to be adjusted, throwing the aerodynamics out, challenging and exceeding the skills of the new pilot.

More height was lost.

The
Canadian
mid-upper gunner had hardly moved to key his mike when the five hundred pounder
he had belatedly spotted
, dropped from a sister aircraft
that was
bombing from the corre
ct height, struck the port wing
immediately to the rear of the inner engine.

The bomb did not explode
,
but carried sufficient energy to remove the engine and bend the wing at the point of impact.

Black ordered his crew to bail out as he struggled with the rapidly falling aircraft.

Three minutes later
, Lancaster
UM-V added itself to the wasteland below, carrying Pilot Officer Black with it.

The whole crew slowly descended by parachute, but not all survived, as bombs dropped by their colleagues
above
and vengeful
Soviet
soldiers
below
took the lives of all but two of them.

UM-V was one of only s
even aircraft lost on the night,
the
Soviet
Air F
orce
being notable on
ly by its
complete
absence.

             
Once daylight permitted, Allied photo-recon aircraft took off to
record
the results of the night raid.

Soviet
interceptors rose to meet them but quickly backed down
,
as swarms of fighters formed a barrier to protect their unarmed charges.

Two small skirmishes ensured, resulting in the loss of two RAF spitfires and no loss to the
Soviet
Air force
, but the RAF and its cohorts owned that bit of airspace and none of the precious photo-recon birds were lost.

On return
,
the films were hastily processed and the interpretation commenced.

By 150
0 hrs
it seemed clear enough that a large part of the
Soviet
assault formations of
the 1st Red Banner Central European Front
had been ravaged in the raid. Undoubtedly
,
those that had survived would be very shaken up
,
and it seemed likely that no large scale offensive operations would be carried out by
1st Red Banner
for the foreseeable future.

A good plan violently executed now is better than a perfect plan executed next week.

George S. Patton

The dispatch rider had brought a great deal of paperwork from units all around the Army headquarters at
Baden-Baden
.

Important mail, particularly that
destined
for senior officers, made its way quickly to the right hands.

The general mail was passed into the system, sorted and either s
ent out
to be delivered
by hand
,
or placed in pi
geon holes for the appropriate person to pick up at leisure.

One nondescript letter sat in the slot dedicated to Major Kowalski, a standard military envelope addressed to Major Kowalsky. Such an error was understandable and would draw n
o comment or suspi
cion whatsoever, which was precisely why the Russian had instructed Knocke t
o change the last letter to a ‘Y
’ if he was prepared to act to save his wife.

The letter contained a formal response to Kowalsk
i
’s
fictitious enquiry, Knocke had the presence of mind to continue the spelling within,
supplying some nondescript administrative information and invi
ting the ‘Pole’ to revisit the L
egion unit as soon as possible, complete with a signed
special
pass to assist his passage.

Pausing at the
orderlies’
station, he asked for lunch to be delivered to his room at one o’clock, figuring that would give him enough time to prepare his report for his GRU superiors.

A familiar face betrayed no emotion as Kowalski discussed the luncheon menu options with the
attentive
orderly, hearing but not openly acknowledging the simple request for an additional bread roll, which
coded phrase
told the orderly that there was important information to be passed.

She was an unremarkable vessel, at least at her launch in 1928,
merely solidly built,
destined as she was for trade routes in cold climes.

It was the fervent hope of every man aboard her now that she retained her unremarkability, even after weeks of alterations and conversions, creating a
n ugly
swan from an ugly duckling.

At her launch, the mother of the local party chief had named her ‘Dmitry Karbyshev’, after a Lieutenant-General of the same name,
a
hero of the Great War.

As the darkened hull had slipped her
Murmansk
moorings and departed, she left the persona of ‘Karbyshev’ behind, the dawn light casting its rays on
the Swedish merchant vessel ‘Golden Quest’, or at least a passable effort to look like the
soon to be
launched
Scandinavian
ship.

The real ship was intended to ply its trade between
Sweden
and
North America
, which latter destination was exactly where the heavily-laden
Soviet
vessel intended to make its
second
landfall.

Soviet
N
aval aviation had scored few triumphs thus far, but this mission was intended to announce their presence
in style
.

Intending
to draw resources away from the attack aircraft,
Soviet regiments
noisily demonstrated against allied positions on the west coast of
Denmark
and
Northern Germany
, sideshows that claimed the lives of twenty airmen and half as many valuable aircraft.

But they worked
,
and the attack force slipped through unnoticed, skimming at wave top height towards their target.

HMS Queen was already recovering her airc
raft, circling as they were,
anxious to land after a sortie in support of 7th
Armoured
Division below the Danish border.

HMS Argus, steaming in line less than a mile to the starboard was burning and landing had ceased until the fires were extinguished.

A Fairey Firefly had made a total dog’s breakfast of its approach and was now a funeral pyre for her crew, along with three naval ratings who had
bravely
tried to extricate the unfortunates.

Two explosions had already been witnessed by Queen and her escorts, and a third drew their attention as yet another of the unexpended rocket munitions exploded.

All aircraft were now under orders to return with unexpended wing munition
,
given the shortages some
squadrons were experiencing, although the orders
did not yet extend to returning with bombs aboard.

The air patrol, three Seafires from Queen, flew lazily around some miles to the east, but close enough that the pilots could see the trouble experienced by their running mate.

It also proved a distraction and gave the 51st Mine-Torpedo Regiment aircraft an opportunity to close.

Despite all the warnings their intelligence officers had issued,
the
Sea
fire pilots relaxed at the sight of A20 Bostons in US colours until their attitude and direction burned through the lethargy and made the radio report
to their carrier
more urgent.

“Snow White, Snow White, this is Sneezy Red One,
ten
unidentified aircraft closing your position due east
at sea level, ten miles and closing for a torpedo attack
.”

The naval Lieutenant said ‘unidentified’ to save on initial explanations.

“Roger Sneezy Red One, intercept and identify.”

Now was the time

“Roger
,
Snow White. Aircraft are A20 Boston’s in US markings. Diving now.”

Some of the aircraft
returning from the support mission moved
to help
,
but a combination of good tactics, luck and poor decision making on the part of the Spitfire pilots
had
put the 51st in prime attacking position
,
and all ten
Bostons
put their torpedoes in the water, five for each flat top.