Leighton gasps in horror and tries to frame the picture, he closes the shutter and twists the wind on knob with unnecessary force, he shoots again and again, then as the cloud of smoke falls astern he frames the flagship. Their speed has increased and Frunze’ white wake goes curling away from her hull, cutting a foaming furrow across the face of the bright ocean, her battle ensigns are snapping at her mast and her guns thunder in unison, spitting great gouts of fire at the sky.
She is magnificent, her forward turrets, unable to elevate enough to engage the German aircraft, traverse right and left then abruptly she takes a hit aft of the bridge, she seems to stagger under the blow and a great column of white steam roars out of her forward funnel followed by black oily smoke as she slows. A second bomb strikes forward of her rearmost turret, then a third amidships causes a huge detonation that shatters the superstructure and tears her aft funnel and her mainmast from their mountings to send them tumbling into the sea.
The ship lurches to starboard and careers towards them as the dark smoke gushes out of her, she is losing speed and cuts across their wake just yards from Kharkov’s stern. Leighton can see the frantic figures of her crew swarming across her deck, over the side into the water. He frames another picture and another, then the wind–on stops. He is at the end of the roll, fumbling with the film release and his shaking hands can barely move the tiny handle that rewinds the film. He opens the back of the camera and the cartridge falls to the deck. He stoops to retrieve it and gropes in his pocket for a fresh roll of film, loads it, closes the camera and winds on. As he straightens and looks again for the flagship he sees it astern off their port quarter well down in the water and still pouring smoke into the sky.
Kharkov is heeling in a hard starboard turn. He hangs on to one of the handles on the searchlight as she straightens and rights herself before heeling into a port turn that is just as hard. They are the target now. A great column of water leaps out of the sea twenty yards off their port beam. Instinctively Leighton winces and turns his back as a curtain of spray drenches him. Another hits the water to their starboard closer than the first, then another directly after that and closer still. He hides the camera inside his uniform jacket and falls to the deck throwing his free arm over his head and praying for it to end.
After a moment he looks up, but as he staggers to his feet he sees a Stuka closing rapidly from astern, ripples of fire flicker at the bend of its crooked wings, two lines of splashes converge on the ship. But even as the bullets pop and buzz around his head rattling off the steel he raises the camera and exposes a frame, twisting the wind-on knob as he again throws himself flat. The glass in the searchlight disintegrates into tiny shards that rain around him in glittering pieces, bouncing off the deck catching rays of sunlight.
He lies with his eyes tight shut for what seems an age. He can feel the throb of the engines through his prone body but the ship’s guns have fallen silent. As he gets unsteadily to his feet he sees from the position of the sun that they are steering south. The sky is empty and they are alone on the still surface of the ocean.
He brushes broken glass from his clothes and looks around. Gergiev is slumped face down on the grey steel of the deck. A patch of dark blood is spreading around his body. He shakes him by the shoulder but the man does not move, he turns the body over and sees the piece of shrapnel jutting from Gergiev’s chest, the glassy, sightless eyes, the broken cigarette still stuck to his lower lip.
Leighton stumbles down the steps from the searchlight platform to the deck and falls to his knees, the camera is still in his shaking hands. He closes the shutter and twists the wind-on, he does it again and again, staring into empty space, eyes unfocused, looking at nothing, taking pictures of nothing, until he comes to the end of the film and the lever will advance no further.
CHAPTER 17: THE COLLAPSE OF THE SOVIET UNION
“If I don’t get the oil in Maikop and Grozny, I’ll have to liquidate this war.” Adolf Hitler, addressing his generals, June 1942.
From ‘The Path to War in Asia’ by Michael Stravinski, Halifax University Press, 2001
The German attack on the USSR caught Japan diplomatically flat–footed. Japan’s Ambassador to Germany, Oshima Hiroshi, had got wind of the plan two weeks before it was unleashed and reported it to Tokyo. But the warning was too late; no more than two months earlier, Japan had concluded a neutrality pact with the Soviets.
Japan’s Foreign Minister, Matsuoka Yosuke, had followed the example of Germany in befriending the Soviet Union. He believed that improved relations with the USSR would bring an end to their aid to China’s Nationalist regime as well as sending a signal to the Americans that Japan was not isolated. Now, he was forced to admit his misjudgement and he went on to propose that Japan join the Germans in their attack on Russia. The Imperial Navy however, affirmed its wish for Japanese forces to strike south.
Japanese government at this time was characterised by confusion and misunderstanding. Each actor within the administration was working towards a different goal while all had their direction of purpose led by a sense of honour that tended to be different with each individual. In the Japanese constitutional system the Supreme Command was independent of the Prime Minister. This meant a chaotic and uncoordinated approach to the formation of policy and the determination of the Generals to control national destiny (and murder anyone who opposed their aims) made the work of civilian politicians both impossible and hazardous.
The whole messy edifice was notionally loyal to the Emperor, but his refusal to state a direct preference for any particular faction, policy or line of reasoning, did nothing to clarify matters. Hirohito, the Showa (Enlightened Peace) Emperor, could have brought Japan’s slide into war to a halt with a few well-picked words, but chose instead to let his generals posture and bicker, while he communicated his thoughts through sonnets and haiku.
After conferences between the Army, the Navy, the Foreign Ministries and the Prime Minister’s office; the Japanese leadership decided to leave the South alone for the time being and concentrate on the Russian Far East. [73] They did, however, decide to call for the occupation of Indochina and for the secret mobilization of one million reservists and conscripts.
Unbeknown to the Japanese, the Americans had broken their top-level diplomatic ‘Purple’ code in September 1940 and were able to read their despatches. Consequently, the Japanese unwittingly handed the US Administration an outline of what was to be expected, by informing their Washington embassy of the future direction of policy.
At the ensuing meeting of the US Cabinet the question of an oil embargo was discussed. Both the State Department and the Navy’s analysts argued that an oil embargo meant war. President Willkie postponed any decision but on 4th July, 1941 sent a message to Japan’s Prime Minister Konoe Fumimaro, asking him, point blank, whether rumours of the Japanese intention to attack the Soviet Union were true and threatening dire consequences if further Japanese aggression occurred. Konoe replied that Japan had no intention of attacking the Soviets, and professed Japan’s desire for peaceful relations.
On July 18th, Willkie informed his cabinet that the code-breakers believed that the occupation of the parts of Indo-China not already controlled by the Japanese would take place within the next three to four days. [74] Queried as to the possible reactions that the United States should consider, Willkie responded that they should do little; especially not embargo oil.
On July 24th, the President received a memorandum from the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Harold Stark, in which the Navy’s position was clearly put as opposing an oil embargo for fear of the possible results of such action. That very same day, Japanese and Vichy French authorities arrived at an understanding regarding the use of air facilities and harbours in Southern Indo-China. This was thanks in no small part to Japanese threats of violence and from July 29th on, Japanese forces began to occupy the area.
President Willkie’s response came on July 30th; he gave in to the pro
dding of the Treasury and War Departments and froze Japanese assets in the United States. He also federalized the Philippine Armed Forces, putting General Douglas MacArthur in charge of the newly established United States Army Forces Far East. However, on 6th August Willkie issued another directive permitting the release of funds sufficient to allow the Japanese to purchase oil up to pre-war levels, although he embargoed high-grade aviation fuel. While this was not quite a reversal of the Roosevelt Administration’s position, its significance was noted in Japan.
The reluctance with which Willkie treated the oil embargo spoke clearly of his conviction that it would not help to curb Japanese aggression. But the comparatively small economic pressure exerted by the decision for government control of Japanese spending in the US allowed for an increase later on, if there was no sign of Japanese cooperation.
The American embargo was essentially a hollow gesture as the Japanese were able to obtain petroleum products from the Netherlands East Indies via Thailand. The British attempts to stop tin, copper, rubber and oil exports from South East Asia to Japan were equally futile for the same reasons.
However, the survival of Prime Minister Konoe’s government was a direct result of the perception that he was able to achieve a rapprochement with the Americans. The Willkie administration’s volte-face was seen by the Japanese as weakness. Konoe’s replacement by the Army Minister General Tojo Hideki did not take place until 1945. [75]
Taken from ‘Japanese Operations in Far Eastern Russia 1942–43’ Piotr Yevseyev, writing in the Morskoi Zhurnal, 1993 volume 2
After their defeat at Khalkin Gol (Nomohan) in 1939, the Japanese chose to bide their time for a strike against the Russian Far Eastern provinces. In the Summer of 1942, with the Soviet Union reeling from a renewed German offensive the opportunity arose and on July 23rd 1942, as news of the German capture of Rostov reached Stalin, the Soviets were struck from behind.
The Japanese avoided the Khalkin Gol area and concentrated their efforts farther east. With their left flank covered by a thrust at Belomorsk, the main Japanese drive struck north east up the Amur valley from Harbin. The Japanese Navy’s Special Landing Forces rapidly invested the Komandorski Islands, the major towns on Kamchatka and those around the perimeter of the sea of Okhotsk. The main fleet covered Japanese Army landings on Sakhalin (Karafuto), and on the eastern shore of the Maritime provinces of Russia’s Far East. Vladivostok was progressively cut off and then completely isolated when the Kwantung Army cut the trans-Siberian railway.
Vladivostok and Sov’govan were heavily defended with in-depth fortifications, the Red Army had around 35 divisions in the trans-Baikal region and initially they stopped the Japanese from advancing very far. But for the Soviets, the situation quickly became grim. Although they thoroughly outfought the Japanese, the calls placed on their resources by the demands of the war in the west meant that the eastern armies lacked the assets needed for a decisive victory. Still they fought doggedly and Vladivostok, besieged for almost a year, was the scene of a defence as determined and bitter as that of Leningrad.
The Soviets planned a counterattack in the winter of 1942-1943, but the collapse of the USSR put paid to the operation, and by 1943 the Japanese had occupied all of Karafuto (Sakhalin), the Kamchatka Peninsula, and the Russian Pacific Coast;
The decision to move against the Soviet Union represented a victory of the Army over the Navy in Japanese governance. Unfortunately, the gains made in eastern Siberia did nothing to solve Japan’s real problem: the strength sapping war in China. The resources they had seized were difficult to exploit and the British and the Americans were still opposed to Japan’s presence there. However, Thai business interests continued to act as brokers, supplying Japan with petroleum products throughout the Axis-Soviet war, despite some diplomatic pressure from the UK.
Taken from ‘Operation Lehrer’ by Richard Gage, Aldermann, 1973
Hitler reduced the scope of the 1942 Summer campaign (Operation Blue), deciding to ignore Moscow and make a single major push towards the oilfields of the Caucasus as well as driving on Stalingrad. It is uncertain as to whether or not he grasped the true importance of the natural resources of this region and their significance to the Soviet economy. Before the operation started he interfered in the disposition of his forces, dividing them between two different objectives. Capture of the oil producing region in the south and the destruction of the Red Army’s reserves west of the Volga.
In comparison with the rest of Operation Blue, Operation Lehrer (Teacher) was very minor, but it proved to be Operation Blue’s most significant element. The initial landing of the 21st Panzer and 90th Light divisions on the eastern shore of the Black Sea at Kabuleti and Ochamchire was conducted with the assistance of units of the Italian and Romanian navies supported by elements of the Kreigsmarine. The assembly of the fleet that facilitated and supported the landing was a major undertaking in itself. The Romanian and German components being largely composed of a mixture of captured Soviet vessels and craft that had come down the central European canal system from Germany, some of them disassembled and transported on barges.
British intelligence strongly suspected that an Italian naval force had passed through the Bosporus and into the Black Sea disguised as merchant vessels. However, when this information was passed to Stalin he rejected it out of hand as a figment of someone’s imagination. Nevertheless when the guns of the cruiser Pola opened fire on the town of Supse on the morning of the 25th August, its shells were very real indeed.
The Germans had been planning the assault for more than a year. The embarrassingly piecemeal nature of their preparations for Operation Sealion and the lack of confidence that attended the planning of the invasion of Britain had bought the backwardness of German tactical abilities in this area into sharp focus. Both Grossadmiral Raeder and Hitler agreed that the ability to land troops over hostile beaches could bring a new tactical dimension to the German armed forces. The Kreigsmarine, with little to occupy it in the interval between the Treaty of Leamouth and the beginning of Operation Lehrer, had studied and practised the art. The Black Sea was in many ways an ideal theatre in which to attempt a major seaborne assault. German forces had occupied several towns on the eastern coast of the Black Sea in 1917 after the treaty of Brest–Litovsk so the area and its environs were not unknown to the Germans. It would have been impossible to move German heavy naval units into the Black Sea without arousing the notice of the entire world. But Hitler was able to call in a favour from his ally Mussolini after rescuing him from the embarrassing humiliation he suffered in the Balkans.
The ruse of disguising a squadron of Italian warships as Greek merchantman had been thought of by Admiral Iochiani of the Regia Marina. The disguises themselves were simple structures of wood and canvas and were highly effective. Even so, the Italians had some bad luck when the force was observed by a British Naval officer while anchored in the Sea of Marmara following an engine room mishap. He deduced correctly that they were disguised warships and his report was passed to the Foreign Office in London but, as we have seen, once it reached the Russians it was dismissed as fantastical.
Hitler ceased vacillating and made the decision to concentrate resources with Generals Paulus and Hoth’s drive on Stalingrad on the 23rd of August at the expense of Von Kliest’s thrust into the Caucasus. Unbeknown to him, on the following day (24th August), Stalin ordered that the city that bore his name must be held at all costs and directed General Georgy Zhukov to supervise the defence. With the sudden demands on Soviet forces caused by the Japanese attack in the Far East, there was no choice but to draw forces for the defence of Stalingrad from General Tyulenev’s Transcaucasus front and the defence of the Caucasus was fatally weakened.
The Black Sea landings themselves met only light opposition. Soviet forces were caught completely off-balance and fell back on Tblisi. Von Kleist, in command of the First Panzer Army, attacking into the Caucsas from the north suddenly found that resistance on his right was ev
aporating as the Russians desperately tried to realign their forces. Novorissisk fell on 28th August, Tuapse two days later and the German column racing down the coast road reached Sokhumi on September 2nd.
Heavy fighting in Tblisi slowed the Germans down, but once the city was secured on 11th September the second phase of Lehrer went into effect. This time lead by the fresh 15th Panzer division with elements of the motorised Italian Ariette division in support, the Germans covered the 280 miles in a week. Soviet resistance had effectively collapsed and with the capture of Baku by the German ‘Falshirmjaeger’ (Airborne) division on 15th September it ceased entirely. Russian forces retreated into a pocket around Grozny and Makhachkala where they were ordered by the enraged Stalin to make a final stand. Attempts were made to supply them by ships from Astrakhan (there was no railway line along the western shore of the Caspian Sea) but the pocket surrendered on 5th October.
In comparison with the titanic struggle to the north, Operation Lehrer was a sideshow, the German attack and the Soviet defence were both under-resourced and not perceived as an important component of the struggle unfolding in the southern Soviet Union. Nevertheless it was one of the most significant military operations in history.
From: ‘The USSR and Total War: Why the Soviet Economy Collapsed in 1942’ by Mark Harrison, Gloucester University Press, 2005 [76]
The history of other wars and other countries can offer us clues as to why the Soviet economy collapsed in 1942. In World War I, Imperial Russia struggled to mobilize itself and eventually disintegrated. The disintegration was as much economic as it was military and political; it can be argued that Russia’s economic break-up was the key factor in both its military defeat and the Russian revolution. Later in the same war and under similar stresses, both Austria-Hungary and Germany went the same way. In all these cases the tendency of shrinkage ended in economic collapse.
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