by Colin Gee
“Alma are trying to contact him whilst we sort out what is happening. Not much happening on their front as yet.”
“And us?”
“I need to know what’s happening. Is there nothing on the ground at all?”
“Nothing, mon Général.”
‘Crazy… totally crazy…’
A voice called D’Estlain’s name and he sprang to the signaller’s side.
“Sir!”
Knocke moved over and received the report straight from the signaller’s mouth.
“Sir, our kameraden in the 78th Sturm Division report being under ground attack… tanks and infantry to their front.”
The 78th Division was the southernmost unit in the lines of the German Republican Army and butted right up to the French, namely Camerone.
“Details?”
“Sketchy, mon Général. Reports say enemy tanks fighting at Maruszów and Dębno.”
Camerone’s commander moved to the map, which carried some of the latest information.
“I don’t know what we face…and I won’t over commit… but we do know we have enemy here so… we will assist our kameraden in the 78th. Have Uhlmann prepare to move his 2nd Battalion up to Czyżów Szlachecki on my order. Issue the same instructions to 5th Regiment and 1st Pionieres. Both reserve battalions, less one company, plus one company of the pionieres. Contact artillery and have them move to support a counter-attack towards the river crossing point at Annopol. I want a blocking force to move up and make sure nothing comes over the river at Piotrowice. Uhlmann will have a secure flank, clear?”
“Oui, mon Général.”
“I’m going to speak to Generalmaior Geissler and coordinate. We’ll need to stay in close contact with his headquarters throughout.”
“Sir! Sir!”
Another operator waved his hand, attracting the duty signals officer as well as D’Estlain.
“1st Regiment reports that their 3rd Battalion at Kobierniki is under artillery fire, Sir.”
Knocke leapt back to the map table.
“There’s no reports of ground attack, except on our friends of the78th. Now we have another barrage starting, but delayed. Why?”
“Poor planning?”
“Possible… but their artillery are damn good. Something else?”
D’Estlain perused the map.
They both stood back whilst more information was added, and hoped to see something that made sense.
D’Estlain posed himself a question.
“No air activity over us… none…”
“That’s strange… but possibly not so. They’re outclassed in every department… plus our radars have the technical advantage. Plus, a sky full of artillery shells is not a healthy environment for airplanes.”
“True.”
A runner moved forward with a message pad and handed it to the Frenchman.
“Merde alors!”
He checked the details off on the map.
“Mon Général. We have a report that the target ranging platoon of 1st Artillerie has been wiped out by some sort of stealth attack. Men dead and equipment destroyed. There are three Soviet bodies in the area.”
“That settles that then. Message to all commands. Infiltrators behind our lines. Take appropriate action. Get a warning off to Corps, 78th Division, and Alma immediately. Tell Uhlmann to hold position for now, but be ready to move on my orders.”
“Immédiatement, mon Général.”
“Oberführer, another report from 1st Regiment.”
Knocke read it with growing concern.
‘More artillery fire… south of Mściów… this simply doesn’t make sense… where’s their ground forces… is what’s attacking the 78th all they have or is…’
“Mon Général, reports of ground fighting at Podszyn. Sketchy details… trying to get more information for you.”
“Quick as you can, Colonel.”
He moved over to the main switchboard.
“Get me Corps Headquarters at once.”
The man went through the normal routine, and Knocke was seriously impressed with the legionnaire’s calm and steady voice and manner.
“Sir?”
He took the offered handset, stretched the cable across to the situation map table and filled Lavalle in on the rapidly unfolding situation.
In turn, Lavalle was able to tell him that the attack was not localised, and that numerous other points along the Allied line had been similarly hit, mainly, it seemed, on joints between national armies.
The British and Polish lines met on the Baltic and on the old Lithuanian border. Both had been attacked.
The junction of German and Polish armies in Northern Poland, and the French and German armies in southeastern Poland.
The Austrian and American hinge south of Vienna had also been heavily bombarded, as had some US positions opposite Vienna itself.
At least six separate points of attack, supported by behind the lines attacks that seemed target radar and AA units in particular.
The possibility that might mean paratroops was obvious, and Allied deployments reflected a response to that threat.
Lavalle understood Knocke’s wish to hit back, and agreed a limited counter attack, aimed at relieving the pressure on the 78th and restoring positions back to the Vistula.
Knocke had the order immediately passed to Uhlmann and the infantry, and Camerone went back to war again.
0213 hrs, Saturday, 15th March 1947, Headquarters of the Red Banner Forces of Soviet Europe, Brest Litovsk, USSR.
“In the name of the great whore, shut the fuck up! I’m awake!”
“Comrade Marshal! They’ve attacked!”
“What? Is this some fucking joke?”
“No, Comrade Marshal. We have numerous reports, from Austria to the Baltic. Enemy artillery fire followed by the movement of ground forces.”
“Aircraft?”
“No great incursions as yet, Comrade Marshal, but aircraft on both sides are engaging as we speak.”
“Have the staff assembled immediately. Go!”
The Lieutenant Colonel almost flew from the room in his haste, leaving Vasilevsky to climb into his uniform as fast as he could.
“Bastards… the fucking bastards… I’ll make them pay for this!”
The briefing commenced as soon as the Commander of the Red Banner Forces of Soviet Europe arrived.
It told of an unprovoked attack on six points along the Soviet lines, supported by artillery.
Now there was also evidence of aircraft excursions over Soviet territory, as the first reports of bombing came through.
Contact had been lost with a supply flight and escorts, heading for Berlin, which itself remained strangely quiet.
The Marshal listened impassively, although his anger rose inside.
‘We’d stopped, you sons of whores! Retreated! There was peace! PEACE! Why are you doing this, you bastards?’
He suddenly realised that the briefing had stopped and all eyes were looking to him for orders.
“Comrades, we will respond to this unprovoked attack. Order all Army reserves to stand by for movement orders. Air forces on standby for offensive missions, but to conduct defensive and covering missions immediately. We will carry the battle to these treacherous bastards and make them wish they’d stayed at home! Get me information, Comrades, Get me information!”
“Urrah!”
The spontaneous cry leapt from many lips and the staff got down to the task.
Malinin waited for his orders.
“Well Comrade… this is a shitty deal, is it not?”
“Yes, Comrade Marshal. I really thought… well… you know…”
“Didn’t we all? Anyway, now we have to manage this and push the capitalist bastards back. I need to speak to STAVKA immediately. Find me some offensive options quickly.”
Malinin went about his business with studied calm and efficiency as the telephone rang in Moscow and the leaders of the Soviet Union became aware that they w
ere at war again.
0213 hrs, Saturday, 15th March 1947, NATO’s new forward headquarters, Leipzig, Germany.
Colonel Hood knocked urgently on the bedroom door and was immediate hailed to enter.
He did so and found his new commander performing graceful movements with a Model 1913 cavalry sabre, one of the famous Patton swords, named for the man who had designed it.
“General, Sir. You’re needed immediately.”
“Where’s the goddamned fire, Colonel.”
“Everywhere, General. The commies have attacked.”
Patton stopped his routine in mid-thrust and slipped the weapon back into its scabbard.
“They’ve attacked, eh?”
“Yes, Sir. From Lithuania to Vienna.”
Patton smiled.
“Good.”
“Mister President, George Patton here, Sir.”
“Good evening, George. Thank you for pulling me from the most boring of meetings.”
“Sir, I must report that, as of 0200 European time, the war restarted.”
“What?”
“Mister President, as best as we can presently work out, the Soviets started with artillery barrages on selected Polish, German, British, French, and American positions, all of which have caused casualties. I’ve ordered all forces to full alert and moved units to respond to the tactical situation.”
Truman sagged at the knees and tried to find his seat at the Oval office table.
“Is this just a terrible mistake, George?”
“No way, Mister President. Artillery barrages from Lithuania to Austria, all at the same time. Absolutely no chance. This is all by Soviet design.”
“I see. What do you need from me, George?”
“Two things, Sir.”
“Go on.”
“Firstly, send me everything you can. Secondly, I need your orders, Sir.”
Truman looked at the faces gathered around the speaker and saw a reflection of his own shock and horror, mixed with a little of something else.
He recognised it for what it was; a mixture of a sense of betrayal, sadness for what was inevitably to come, and a whole lot of anger.
He set his jaw and gave Patton his orders.
“General Patton. The American people and her Allies will provide you with all necessary means to bring this war to a speedy conclusion. Drive them back, all the way back… do not let up until they beg for mercy. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Sir, Mister President, Sir. How far you want ‘em back?”
“To Moscow and beyond, General Patton.”
“And… Mister President…”
Truman instinctively understood what Patton was about to ask.
“Yes is the answer to that one, General. We will use the bomb on the Communists and make them wish they’d never started this whole sorry stinking mess. Now, do what you can immediately and I’ll have General Marshal speak with you directly. Good luck and god speed, General Patton.”
“Thank you, Mister President.”
Truman looked at his closest advisors and saw only steel and resolve.
He put it immediately to the test.
“Right. Henry. I want you to contact Groves, get him up to speed, and tell him I want weapons ready to ship to Europe by next weekend at the latest. Tell him Wednesday… that’ll focus him some.”
“He’s in Europe at the moment, visiting Denmark.”
“Then his deputy… put a burr under his saddle instead.”
Truman was galvanised into action.
“I’m going to call the Prime Minister, bring him up to date on developments. Sure as heck, Winston’ll be fit to burst. Then I’ll speak to Speer. Then, I’ll address the nation and I will be frank and open. No sense in losing the opportunity to let the Soviets know that they will be visited by a hurricane of their own making.”
The laughter was forced, as befitted the seriousness of the occasion.
“Now, gentlemen. Let’s get about winning this war!”
0300 hrs, Saturday, 15th March 1947, Europe.
Within an hour of the first shot being fired, ground and air combats were in full swing, as aggressive commanders pushed the limits of their orders and sought out the enemy and night fighters struggled to control the air above the growing battlefield.
A full-blown shooting war was gathering speed an hour after that.
By the time that dawn started to throw its light on the battlefields, thirteen thousand men from both sides had lost their lives in a rejuvenated war that each blamed the other for starting, and both equally pledged full revenge upon the other for their treachery.
In reality, less than two hundred men knew something of what had actually happened, and only forty-three knew exactly who was to blame.
War would end if the dead could return.
Stanley Baldwin
CHAPTER 193 - THE FOUNTAIN
0801 hrs Saturday, 15th March, 1947, the Kremlin, Moscow, USSR.
Stalin listened with a face like fury as the details of the enemy sneak attack were laid out before him and the rest of the GKO, as well as a number of high-up political and military personnel who had gravitated towards the meeting room.
He occasionally took a look at his comrades and understood that he would not need to provoke them to outrage this time; they were all furious, and that fury would clearly be translated into aggression.
Zhukov, plainly lacking sleep and an opportunity to make himself the normal immaculate Soviet Marshal, listed each Allied attack and incursion, complete with the latest reports of air and sea activity, culminating in the sinking of one of their submarines in the Black Sea.
The Marshal’s briefing came to an end, but there was an unexpected silence as everyone present deferred to the General Secretary.
He nodded sagely, taking on the role of the village elder listening to some great wrong that had afflicted his fellow villagers, nodding his head very gently as he marshalled his thoughts.
“Iran?”
“Absolutely nothing, Comrade General Secretary.”
“Siberia? China?”
“Again nothing, Comrade General Secretary.”
“My peasant mind wonders why they might not attack there was well, Comrade Marshal.”
“Coordination difficulties possibly? Logistics? Political will? They could simply sit there and do nothing, knowing we have to maintain units to counter the possibility of them attacking us. Pin us in place whilst the real fighting goes on around our western borders, Comrade General Secretary.”
The nods around the room demonstrated understanding of the issue.
“So, Comrade Marshal, how do you advise we proceed against the perpetrators of this despicable act of betrayal?”
“We can offer local counter-attacks, but we were simply not prepared for this sort of treachery, Comrade General Secretary. Marshal Vasilevsky and I have already talked about mounting a counter-offensive, but we wish to understand the GKO’s will in this matter.”
Numerous men exchanged looks with Stalin, looks that spoke of determination and steel.
“Stop them, roll them back, and crush them, Marshal Zhukov!”
“Of course. I must have as many units as possible from the STAVKA reserve, and time to put a proper attack together. We must remember they have unlimited resources, so we must ensure we plan for success, not half measures. That will require some time, Comrades… time which will be bought with the blood of the Russian soldier.”
“As ever, Comrade Marshal.”
Beria had made the statement, and he drew an expressionless look from Zhukov.
“As ever, Comrade Marshal,” Zhukov conceded.
‘One day, Chekist… you little shit… one day…’
Stalin lit his pipe and sent a wave of thick smoke over those closest to him.
“Politically, we must act with great firmness. Speak to their minor allies… tell them we were attacked without warning or cause… try and drive a wedge between them all.”
He raised a wa
rning finger towards Zhukov.
“We must do nothing to antagonise the neutrals. Sweden, Finland, even the fucking Swiss and that two-faced shit Tito… nothing to make them ally themselves in any way, Clear?”
“Yes, of course, Comrade General Secretary.”
Stalin sat back in his chair and looked at two of his comrades.
He raised an enquiring eyebrow and received a small nod of agreement.
“There is more we can, of course. As your leader, I have had to prepare for all eventualities, and I can tell you know that our Motherland has other tools at its disposal in this new fight, tools that will make the whole world tremble.”
He stood and addressed the now fully focussed assembly.
“Comrades, with foresight helped by understanding the capacity for duplicity and treachery of these capitalist bastards, your leadership has continued with a special project that will now enable us to strike back at the very heart of our enemies.”
He had their undivided attention.
“Project Raduga. It will strike them by land and sea, hurt their soldiers and their civilians, here and in faraway lands.”
He puffed on the pipe and decided where he would stop, at what point he would baulk at telling them details to protect security… and disguise the fact that he had intended to bring about another war in any case.
For now, he decided to use their fury at the betrayal.
“Comrades, you’ll understand… I cannot say too much… but I’ll tell you this. They will die in their tens of thousands, both at home and at the front.”
‘You want to know how… and you, Comrade, want to know if we have it, don’t you?’
He knew the questions they were asking themselves and decided to meet their suspicions… their unspoken questions… head on.
“Yes.”
Some looked puzzled.
“Yes, Comrades… the Motherland has the bomb… and we’ll use it at the appropriate time.”
There was genuine excitement.
“Yes, we have it, but we also have much more.”
