World War Three 1946 Series Boxed Set: Stalin Strikes First

by Harry Kellogg

  Even the girls were taught and treated, as males. This was ridiculous, and we all knew it. I mean girls were different and disgusting at that point in my life. They tried to eradicate their feminine traits but how could they? Being a woman meant religion, home, privacy, intimacy and relationships. This did not fit the socialist dialectic, and so it had to be eradicated. They all had close-cropped hair and wore plain shirts and black knee-pants in our club. It fooled no one but we had to put up with it because the adults said we had to.

  Although membership was theoretically optional almost all the children in the Soviet Union belonged to the organization; it was a natural part of growing up. Still, joining was not automatic. In the third grade of school children were allowed to join the Young Pioneer Organization. This was done in batches, confirmed by a solemn ceremony often held in a Pioneer Palace. Only the best students were allowed into the first batch then the slightly less-advanced and well-behaved were allowed into the second batch several weeks later. The most ill-behaved or low-performing students were given time to 'catch up' and would only be allowed to join in the fourth grade, a year after the first two batches of their classmates. Not being admitted at all was odd and lack of desire to join was considered suspicious. Most often it was a religious student that stubbornly refused to join. Religion was frowned upon by the Soviet party official’s due to the fact that it ran contrary to Communist ideology.

  I was admitted in the first batch in my school.

  The whole effect was magical to me and I joined wholeheartedly in all the activities and tried to excel in all of them. My mother became concerned about me, and my grandfather always spoke in disparaging terms about the Young Pioneers. He had a particular sneering way of saying it that made me cringe inside. I still loved him and never confronted him as it would have done me no good. I just stayed quiet and then snuck out of the house as soon as I could to attend whatever function was going on that the Pioneer Palace at the time.

  One of the most famous stories of Young Pioneers that was told as I was growing up was the tale of the “Death of a Pioneer Girl,” who on her deathbed, refused to make the sign of the cross, and instead raised her frail, trembling hand in the Pioneer Salute. The right storyteller could have even the most stoic of us choking back tears. Defiant child heroes were always the heroes of the tales told around the campfires at the Young Pioneers Camps held throughout Russia every summer.

  When I was eleven years old things changed radically on a national level, as far as I was concerned. All of a sudden collectivism was frowned upon and individualism came to the fore once again. I believe that we were the first group of Young Pioneers to have this lurching turn of priorities foisted upon us. One day we were extolling the virtues of group effort, and the next, we are hearing lectures about how we have to be obedient and be grateful to our parents. Along with this switch to individualism came discipline. We were now individually held responsible for our actions, choices and, most interesting of all to me, our talents. Homework was done individually and not in our study groups and we were singled out by being graded...on individual effort. New awards for Shock Workers, and Shock Students, became the prize to strive for.

  All of this was dizzying to a young mind but we were able to adapt to the changing whims of the adults. My natural talents come to the fore and I was grateful not to be held back by the dolts of our former study groups and clubs. So much so, that in 1933-34 I tried out for and progressed in the Competition for Young Talents, which were held all over the Soviet Union. Over forty-three thousands of us made it to Leningrad and Moscow and were ushered around and treated like kings for our talents. Mine was poetry. Even though I did not make it to the finals, I did attend a gala where Stalin himself was the honored guest.

  Thousands of us were honored and taken on tours throughout the USSR where we would perform in whatever venue the particular city, or town, had to offer. Most of the time we performed to extremely large crowds with very enthusiastic receptions. I did keep a scrap book of my travels but it was destroyed somewhere in 1943 in one of my family's many moves. As a child I have no idea why society made such an abrupt switch to the accomplishments of the individual over that of the collective during this time period, but that’s just the way it was.

  Happiness became something you had to earn, by being a good child, a good student, and a good Pioneer and only then, could you enjoy the swing set...but not a moment before. You worked hard and then you could play. In 1935 a new and fascinating thing happened called the “New Year's Tree.” From what I understand, it replaced the now-banned Christmas tree. Being eleven at the time I was still child enough to not care. All I knew was that everyone was once again happy in the darkness of winter and that meant everything to me at the time.

  ***

  Center Lyubov Orlova from the Soviet Propaganda Film “Circus” [xxxix]

  Part Two of 'My Name Is of No Importance

  Then the film 'Circus' came to the theatre up the street. It starred Lyubov Orlova playing an American woman named Marion Dixon. The film opens with the following headline from the Sunnyville Courier, “Marion Dixon, Human Bombshell, Center of Sensational Scandal,” with a large photo, captioned, “Marion Dixon, Perpetrator of History’s Most Sinister Crime!”

  The next scene opens, with a tiny woman running from an angry crowd, which is bent on harming her, and clutching a small bundle, close to her body. She manages to reach a moving train, and somehow climbs on board, as the crowd still chasing her gives up and she makes it out of town before being harmed. The bundle starts to cry and the baby in the bundle is obviously half-black, hence the American crowd's fury. A man from Germany helps her onto the train as she faints.

  The woman is Marion Dixon, an American circus artist who after giving birth to a black baby immediately becomes a victim of rampant institutionalized racism in the United States. The German on the train turns out to be a theatrical agent who recruits her to his concert program across the Soviet Union.

  Marion leaves the United States to go on a circus tour across the USSR. At first, Marion is homesick but meets a Russian man and falls in love. With her new Russian husband, she finds love and happiness in the Russian circus and her son is treated with loving kindness by all. One of the more touching scenes is when people from all parts of the Soviet Union sing versions of their ethnic lullabies to the little boy.

  I immediately fell in love with Lyuba. So much so, that she was responsible for my sexual awakening. Shortly after seeing the film I exploded all over my bed clothes while having a dream about kissing and touching Lyuba. It was a mess, and I had no idea what it was until my grandfather thankfully, told me what my body was telling me. He has just the right way of putting things and my mission in life was now clear. It was to explode into as many pretty women as I could find. I’m sure that was not what he meant but that is what I thought I was supposed to do and it got me into some trouble along the way...and caused me to experience some truly interesting times, as well.

  Along with all of this individual reward also came responsibility. The age for which a child could be charged with a major crime was dropped to twelve years old and there were consequences for inferior grades as well. Parents once again regained control over their children but also became vilified, if they failed. All very head-turning events which made me glad I had never confronted my grandfather.

  Then like magic pictures of Stalin holding and protecting children started appearing all over the schools and the Pioneer Palaces, and above doors of every schoolhouse and there appeared the phrase “Thank You, Comrade Stalin, For A Happy Childhood!” which became instantly ubiquitous. Children were left in no doubt that they had to earn the protection of Stalin, but that it would be absolute if they were worthy.

  Foreigners were used to frighten children and stories of evil spies trying to harm your family and the Motherland started to become normal. Some of my poems were censored before they were published, much to my dismay. Fear started to become an everyday part
of life along with poison-gas drills held at regular intervals. I, of course, was an instructor in the use of gas masks and was much in demand as a teacher.

  Once again, a shift in responsibilities with the parents, teachers, and leaders were blamed when a particular child misbehaved. That’s how many a spanking and beating was avoided by some of my more errant friends. Their parents were blamed for their misdeeds and their teachers were blamed for their woeful grades. It was an interesting twist to watch as an eleven-year-old boy of high spirits. It worked in my family as I loved my mother and grandparents, and would do nothing to bring shame upon their heads. But for others, things were different. Eventually the parents caught up with the misdeeds of their children, and matters were rectified in time-honored ways.

  I lived and breathed for the Young Pioneer Summer Camps and eventually became a staff member of the most prestigious of them all, Artek. This camp was started in 1925 and was situated on the Black Sea. It expanded every year and grew to be the largest and most prestigious camp of all. Because of the climate it became a year-round facility, as well.

  When I first went there in 1933 it was a series of ten smaller camps, subdivided by age and interest groups. I attended them all at one time or another, and was a staff member at many. My favorite activity was the counselor hunt where the counselors and staff would hide all around the camp. The campers were then let loose from a gathering area such as the dining facility and spread out to capture as many staff as possible. When a staff member was caught, he was sentenced to getting pushed off the dock and into the water, by the camper who caught them. It was great fun for all.

  In one instance my friend and I were hiding near the shore under a big tree. Another staff member decided to climb the tree and hide up there. He crawled out on a limb that overhung the water and proceeded to get comfortable as the campers were rampaging all over camp looking for the staff. The night before he had snuck out of his quarters and had raided the kitchen for some sweets. He therefore, was terribly sleepy. Just as a large group of staff-seeking campers came upon our area the counselor in the tree predictably fell asleep losing his grip and falling about nine meters down, straight into the cold water.

  The large pack of campers was on him in a flash and he was caught as per the rules. Not only did he get wet from falling out of the tree, but had to then shiver in the cold night air until his fate of walking the plank was carried out, and once again he was subjected to the cold clear water. I never did ask him how he liked his sweets; just desserts and all that.

  Camp was my home away from home, and eventually my home as I joined the permanent staff in 1939. In two short years I learned to love and became a man, when one of the nurses assigned to the camp took pity on my moans in the night and showed me the act of making love, and it was love for me. I loved that nurse and still do to this day. She was shipped off and joined the war against Finland. The last thing I had heard, she was killed in Leningrad later in the war. I can’t remember her face, but I do remember her body and the way she smelled. Not at all like the hospital that my father recuperated in. Not at all like that.

  I became engrossed in the fervor of war and lied about my age to join the Red Fleet. When I was tested, something about my aptitude and schooling led the Navy to place me in a bomber regiment taking my training in a flight school that was attached to the Baltic Fleet. I was groomed to become a pilot and excelled at the task. I will not bore you with tales and the horrors of training and discipline as I’m sure you are all familiar with the concepts. That is what the military does, breaking a man down before building him up again in the image they need.

  There was not much for a bomber squadron to do in the early days of the war but to avoid getting killed by the vastly superior Luftwaffe. Quite frankly not much was accomplished by our regiment, but we did survive relatively intact.

  From what I understand, on 28 July, the People's Commissar of the Navy recommended to Stalin that nocturnal raids against the German capital Berlin, be launched from Saaremaa Island off the western coast of Estonia. This was unknown to us, as it happened we were ourselves already planning such a raid. We had done all the calculations and plotted all the necessary routes. The maps had all been prepared when the Commissar came to us with the proposal. Without hesitating our Colonel produced the necessary information. It was a case of plan happening from both the bottom and the top.

  On the night of 7 August, thirteen aircraft took off led by Captain Aleksei Efimovich Mazurenko, with Senior-Lieutenant Pyotr Ilyich Khokhlov as his navigator. I was piloting Il-4 number 284 and was third aircraft in the regiment. All went as planned. The German antiaircraft defenses were taken completely by surprise and though we did only minor damage all of us returned safely. The following night we were joined by others and a flight of fifteen Il-4's once again bombed Berlin. The flight was a total distance of 1,996 kilometers to and from Berlin. On both attacks we dropped both bombs and leaflets, which I’m certain only added to Göring’s embarrassment.

  The Il-4 was a good airplane and I flew it throughout the war on a variety of missions. It always brought me home. It was a good medium bomber similar to the American B-25, but a little slower making up for that with longer range and a higher service ceiling. That is why I am sitting at the controls of a B-25J Lend-Lease bomber, at this very moment.

  ***

  The British reject the demands of Stalin. The stage is set and the opening dance begins.

  ***

  Soviet IL – 4 Medium Bomber

  The Early Bird Catches the Worm

  It started once again at 0400 hours in pitch dark all over the French, Benelux and Danish coast. The engines coughed to life, men shouting warnings and instructions, creatures of the night scurrying for cover and flocks of birds being disturbed into unwelcome flight. It had become a very recent, but pervasive, chain of events for the last several weeks. It also a most unwelcome daily event to most of the native inhabitants both wild and tame.

  Bomber Command had run some highly-successful raids with night-flying Mosquitoes but this hardly made a dent in the masses of Soviet aircraft and crews that were practicing daily for the massive onslaught that would soon wash over the Island of Britannia, as well as the rest of the British Isles. In lieu of this event, “Bomber” Harris had made a proposal, and it was accepted.

  Today five-hundred Lincoln and Lancaster heavy bombers escorted by five-hundred Spitfires, were going to attempt the carpet-bombing of four of the largest Soviet airfields along the French and Benelux coasts. Intelligence reported the presence of hundreds of ground-to-air missiles spread out in the area near the airfields along with the usual thousands of AAA guns. Harris knew that many of his bomber crews would be lost, but he was convinced that it was a chance worth taking. In his mind, the bomber forces currently under his command would either prove itself as a relevant weapons system or it would die a slow death, going the way of the battleship.

  This was the last and possibly final, test of the relevance of the current stable of RAF heavy bombers and their survivability in the Third World War. To heighten his chances he had marshaled every single Mosquito, Typhoon, Tempest, Hornet and Beaufighter that could be put in the air. They were assigned to weather the metal wall sure to be present, consisting of 85-mm, 37-mm and 25-mm antiaircraft shells thrown up by the guns around the known Surface-to-Air Missile sites. Their purpose was to suppress the Wasserfal missiles, hopefully minutes before the bombers were in range. In addition, the Soviets did have an estimated one million VT fuses. In preparation for the raid daily flights of chaff-laden aircraft dropped their curtains of foil at various times of the day to confuse, blind and lull the crude Soviets radar sets into ineffectiveness.

  The Tu-2's, NATO codenamed 'Bat,' Pe-2's, NATO codenamed 'Buck,' Il-4's, NATO codenamed 'Bob,' and what seemed to be their mothership, the B-25J, NATO codenamed 'Bank,' took off and all formed as usual in pods around the Banks. There was no indication of what the purposes of the B-25 Banks were. There were plenty of
local spies and such that reported on the unusual formation being practiced incessantly by the VVS. At least five attempts had been made at measuring for any kind of electronic, radioactive or biological activity. They all had come back negative except for a brief interlude of five seconds recorded when some kind of electronic activity came from one Bank. This seemed more like a fluke, than a planned event which in reality, it was. One of the operators on a Jammer Bank accidentally hit the switch but immediately turned it off. Thereafter all critical switches had safety guards installed by welding two nails over the offending switch. Crude, but effective as the Soviets are wont to do.

  The pods dutifully navigated their way inland after forming up, to various target areas, set up around France. The VVS seemed to have figured out a way to navigate rather well in the early morning hours and arrived at their intended targets just as the visual conditions were right for ground attack.

  It is believed that they were using celestial navigation and that’s why no amount of jamming done to their radio compasses would be of use. The British themselves had become very adept at this method of navigation before they moved on to the radio compass. The Soviets were attempting to take it even further.

  Today was the day for Bomber Command’s first thousand-plane raid of the Third World War. It would be in daylight, at high altitude, counting on surprise, and the suppression of the Wasserfal missile systems by fighter-bombers and the tactical bombers. Only time would tell if all the resources spent on creating and then resurrecting the heavy bomber fleet of Bomber Command was worth the effort and considerable expense. A number of leading officers and tacticians advocated strongly for an increase in fighters at the expense of resurrecting the bomber fleet but much like Hitler, “Bomber” Harris and his cabal advocated offensive action over defensive reaction.