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Prohibition of Interference. Book 3. Impact Strategy
Max Glebow


Prohibition of Interference #3
Pyotr Nagulin finally sorted out his relationship with the NKVD and, it seems to him, convinced the Soviet leadership of his loyalty. However, his new position brought him new problems. He is now in Moscow, still far from the front, but Senior Lieutenant of State Security cannot calmly watch as hundreds of thousands of encircled Red Army soldiers die in the Kiev pocket. He goes to his superiors with a proposal that once again casts doubt on his fate.





Max Glebow

Prohibition of Interference. Book 3. Impact Strategy





Chapter 1


The counterstrokes of the 40th and 21st Armies had no chance of success. These armies, severely weakened in previous battles for Kiev, even after replenishment were not powerful enough to break the encirclement ring and reopen the corridor to the remnants of the three armies trapped in the pocket. However, this was the case where it was impossible to win, but the troops had to go into battle anyway, as no one in the Headquarters of the Supreme High Command even wanted to think about leaving 200,000 men to die in the pocket.

The computer nonchalantly showed me the dry numbers of the balance of forces. It had no special programs to predict the outcome of battles. These programs remained at the moonbase, where scientists would have easily calculated for me the probability of success for each side, the optimal strategy and tactics for both adversaries and the mathematical expectation of loss. Nevertheless, some estimates could be made with the means at my disposal.

I didn't have a lot of time to figure out satellite management, but I tried to make time for it. It was very difficult. If there was something I didn't understand in the manuals, and this happened quite often, I had no one to ask for help. My basic education was not at all designed for the tasks I had set for myself. The satellites management interface implied that the operator had a certain level of knowledge, and the manuals were also designed for people with this knowledge. As a result, I just didn't understand some of the terms. The rescue capsule computer managed to help me on occasion by providing reference information, but its databases were also not compiled for controlling scientific satellites, and certainly not for helping a pilot create programs to analyze the combat capabilities of pre-space-era armies.

I was taught the basics of programming. It was thought that the pilot as a user of numerous space combat simulators should have an idea of how they worked. No one, of course, did expect that I would change any parameters of the source code to suit my purposes, or that I would look for undocumented features of the programs, but the developers of the course thought that I should understand the principles of computer decision-making, at least in general terms.

This subject seemed to me at first completely useless, but I suddenly became interested in it for a while, seeing it as a good exercise for my brain, and the head of the study department was greatly surprised. Then I gave it up for current affairs, but I still had some skills, and now I was genuinely happy about that old hobby.

My immediate superior was Senior Major of State Security Sudoplatov, a figure who enjoyed enormous prestige and almost unlimited confidence in the Commissariat, headed by Beria, which he had earned through his dangerous but murderously effective operations to eliminate the head of the Ukrainian nationalists Evgeny Konovalets and Lev Trotsky, Stalin's personal enemy. Frankly, I was wary of Sudoplatov, and I did not want to tell him the results of my reflections, which made me very skeptical about the idea of unblocking the troops encircled near Kiev by the attack of the 40th and 21st Armies. I didn't want to hear him accuse me of defeatism.

However, I couldn't just go about my day-to-day business, watching counterattack attempts fail one by one. In general, I realized one simple thing – this war was gradually ceasing to be a foreign war for me. I used to consider as my own only the Red Army soldiers and commanders directly surrounding me, those people with whom I went into battle together, but as time went on I began to realize that this concept was rapidly embracing more and more people. At some point, the air defense platoon became my own, then the entire composite battalion of General Muzychenko, then the 300th Division, the artillery regiment of Lieutenant Colonel Tsaitiuni, and nowadays the entire Southwestern Front, now torn by the Germans into two parts and divided into encircled and those outside the pocket, seem to have fallen into the same category.

It cost me a lot of trouble to get the artificial intelligence left in the escape pod and the satellites' onboard computers to work together. Before the destruction of the moonbase, they did not interact with each other in any way, and it was believed that they should not interact with each other. Theoretically, the access codes I had allowed me to pair these devices with each other, but in practice I spent hours on this task. But now the training of the artificial neural network I created to simulate the actions of the Russian and German armies, was much more efficient. And most importantly, this process did not require my direct participation. Direct access to the Satellite Network databases allowed the capsule computer to draw from them all the necessary information about the course of battles and maneuvers, the practice of using this or that weapon, the abilities and skills of commanders, in general, everything that needed to be fed to the neural network to train it on historical data.

Of course, I did not create the neural network from scratch. This amount of programming would have been too much for me, I simply could not cope with the task at my skill level. Luckily for me the Satellite Network user interface offered a large selection of ready-made blocks from which I could assemble the programs I needed, as from the parts of an erector set. Of course, this still required a basic knowledge of the process, and, as it turned out, my level of training was barely sufficient, as I was faced with a very nontrivial task.

It took me three days to train the neural network. I checked the result and verified that my program gives predictions that are quite acceptable in accuracy when tested on battles that have already been fought. I could only hope that the program would also be able to predict the course of upcoming battles.

As I had feared, Sudoplatov saw in my abilities, above all, an excellent opportunity to form a super-efficient raiding force. He may even have been able to convince Beria that this was the way to use us. In any case, all the first few days we were trained in the sabotage training program.

Naturally, this did not suit me. I wasn't going to spend the whole war running around German back areas, blowing up bridges and capturing prisoners for interrogation. In principle, I had nothing against this use of my squad, but only as one of the directions, an auxiliary direction and no more than that. However, there was no suitable moment for me to have a serious conversation with the new commander, and I had no good arguments. Now, after the failure of several attempts to release the encircled troops, arguments have emerged.

“Comrade Senior Major of State Security, allow me to address you,” I stopped my immediate supervisor after another briefing.

“I'm listening to you.” Sudoplatov was in a bad mood. Apparently, the state of affairs at the front was not conducive to optimism.

“As far as I can tell, attempts to break through a corridor to the troops surrounded near Kiev have so far yielded no positive results,” I said softly, so that no one could hear my words but us. “I believe the 40th and 21st Armies were forced to fall back to their original positions, or even retreat further east…”

“How do you know this, Senior Lieutenant? The current situation at the front was not brought to your attention,” Sudoplatov looked at me sharply.

“A few days ago Comrade Beria showed me a map of the Kiev pocket area with the situation at that time. I thought a lot about this subject and came to the conclusion that the forces we have are totally insufficient to break through the encirclement.”

“Even if so, what does that have to do with our current tasks, Senior Lieutenant? Why are you telling me all this?”

“This has the most direct relevance to our current tasks, Comrade Senior Major of State Security. If you give me ten minutes, I'll explain everything, but I'd rather not do it here.”

“All right, let's go. No one will disturb us in my office,” answered Sudoplatov and walked quickly down the corridor.

As we walked, I once again laid out the details of the plan that had been born in my head this morning, which had been finalized by the computer just in time for the end of class.

“I understand that you have some specific ideas,” said Sudoplatov, taking a seat in the chair behind his desk and gesturing for me to take one of the visitors' seats. “I don't have a lot of time, so get right to the point.”

“There are two major problems that prevent the 40th and 21st Armies from achieving success. It is the enemy's advantage in mobility and communications. The Germans closed the ring with motorized formations. In addition, they have quite enough infantry from Weichs's army and from the infantry divisions accumulated at the Kremenchuk bridgehead. As a result, the enemy can quite easily nullify any of the planned successes of our troops by quickly moving tanks and artillery to the threatened area. ”

“This is not news,” Sudoplatov shrugged. “This has been the state of affairs since the beginning of the war.”

“You are certainly right. In this case, however, the concentration of the enemy's mobile units is several times higher than it usually is. In fact, our armies are facing two tank groups, albeit somewhat tattered in previous battles and stretched over a fairly wide front. If we just try to find a weakness in their defense and try to make a breach there, it won't work, we'll only lose men and equipment.”

“Let's say,” the Senior Major did not argue, “but I haven't heard any concrete suggestions yet.”

“The only way to ensure the success of the breakthrough is to disorganize the enemy's troop control. It is necessary to strike the headquarters of the German motorized corps immediately before attacking from outside and inside the ring.”

“It's a great plan,” Sudoplatov grinned venomously, “And how do you want to do that, Senior Lieutenant? Perhaps you know the locations of these headquarters? Or do you think the Germans will let our air reconnaissance sniff out every square meter of their territory? Have you forgotten who has supremacy in the air now?”

“Comrade Beria told me that he had some very interesting photographs,” I answered calmly, without reacting in any way to the sneer in the voice of my immediate superior. “It shows what was left of the German convoy after a nighttime bombardment by one of the TB-3s whose pilots were receiving my commands from the ground. I was ten kilometers away, but the bombs hit the target.”

I was silent, but the famous saboteur took his time answering and just looked at me carefully, waiting for me to continue.

“I need a fast reconnaissance plane with an experienced pilot and three fighters to cover me. And then, when it gets dark, I need a dozen long-range TB-7 and Yer-2 bombers from among the planes that flew to bomb Berlin in August.”

“Don't you need a couple of armies to reinforce you, Senior Lieutenant?” Sudoplatov leaned back in his chair, looking at me as if I were some exotic curiosity, “We, if you have noticed, are dealing here with somewhat different issues, which are quite far from empty projects. I have only a month to make real saboteurs out of you, able to pass German barriers like a knife through butter, and I'll do it! And you, Comrade Nagulin, are suggesting that I should disobey orders, interrupt the group's preparations, and get on with your adventure, because of which I will have to distract very serious people from important matters.”

“200,000 of our fighters and commanders are waiting for help in the Kiev pocket,” I said slowly, emphasizing each word in my voice, “And they will stay there forever. They will be cut to pieces and killed individually, unless, of course, we change anything in the current breakthrough plans. You are an experienced commander, Comrade Senior Major of State Security, and you know very well that I am right. I only need 24 hours, one day and one night. You are my immediate superior, and I have no one else to turn to. Please remember the bridge over the Dnieper and the events that followed. I was not immediately believed then, either.”

Sudoplatov stood up and gave me a bad look. I stood up, too, but he gestured for me to sit back down.

“Wait here,” ordered the Senior Major, and left the office, closing the door tightly behind him.


* * *

“So, you missed him,” to Richtengden's surprise, the General said this phrase in a completely calm voice, “You failed to wrest Major Schliemann from the hands of Russian saboteurs, and now we are forced to assume that everything he knew, the enemy knows as well. This is all very unfortunate, don't you think, Colonel.”

“All responsibility for this failure lies solely with me, Herr General,” Richtengden answered clearly, looking his superior straight in the eye, “All my men and the "Brandenburg" fighters involved proved to be exceptionally competent specialists, and it was only my mistakes that caused the mission to fail.”

“Don't be in such a hurry to denounce yourself,” the General grinned with a corner of his lips. “Admiral Canaris instructed me to investigate the incident, and, believe me, I have carried out his orders with the utmost care. We have reconstructed the whole picture of what happened by questioning in detail all the participants in the events, from your men to the gendarmes and the infantry officers who carried out your orders. Those who survived, of course…”

The General was silent for a while, then thoughtfully poured some water from a decanter into his glass and took a couple of sips.

“No credible expert familiar with the case has found serious errors in your actions. This rarely happens, because some of them know you personally, and not always your relationship with these people is unclouded. However, their assessments agree – your actions in those circumstances were correct. Perhaps you were just unlucky. How is your arm, by the way? Does it bother you?”

“It's better, Herr General. Thank you, Sir.”

“Perhaps for the first time in this war we have encountered a factor beyond our understanding,” the General continued. “Your timely arrival in the vicinity of Kremenchuk put the counter-subversion operation back on track. You correctly assessed the actions of the enemy and led your men on the trail of the enemy group. Had it not been for this nighttime bombardment, which no one could have foreseen, the Russians would not have been able to land the transport plane on our territory and then get it in the air. Nevertheless, even under these circumstances you were able to inflict damage on the Russian transport plane. As a result, it crashed on an emergency landing, but unfortunately, it happened in the territory already occupied by the Soviet troops, and its passengers apparently survived.”

“It's a failure anyway, Herr General,” Richtengden shook his head, “and it's not the first one, if we remember on whose recommendation you involved Major Schliemann in the operation.”

“You're not yourself, Colonel,” the General frowned. “Or did the injury have that effect on you? You and I seem to have switched roles. You're the one who has to look for arguments in your defense, and I've done everything for you, so you're trying to argue with me.”

Richtengden remained silent. He no longer had the strength or desire to object.

“That's right,” the General looked closely at his subordinate and calmed down a little. “Nobody cancelled the order to destroy the Russian marksman, who, as it turned out, was also a spotter. The human intelligence has already been tasked to locate him, but I don't think it's going to be easy or particularly fast. Major Schliemann is a prisoner, and now you are the only Abwehr officer left, who knows our enemy's habits well. I want to hear your thoughts on what action we should expect from him next. And your suggestions, if, of course, you have any.”

“The Kiev pocket,” Richtengden answered without a second's hesitation.

“And more specifically?”

“The Russians will not be able to break our defenses. The motorized corps of Army Group Center will prevent them from breaking through the front, unless…”

“Go ahead, Colonel.”

“The marksman showed himself a master at targeting heavy artillery and aviation. The howitzers do not have enough range to support a strike directed from inside the ring, and our artillerymen will not sleep either – they will not let the Russians quietly smash our troops. Our aviation dominates the air, and no TB-3s or Red dive bombers can support the advancing Soviet units, even with an ingenious spotter. But this is in the daytime.”

“Do you think they will go for a breakthrough at night?”

“I am sure of it. The Russians had already used this trick at Uman, and they almost succeeded then.”

“Yes. But, as you correctly noted, "almost".”

“They didn't have air support that time, but they will have it now. I had already experienced the delight of a nighttime bombing once, and believe me, I wouldn't want to experience it again. ”

“I see you've given a lot of thought to the situation,” the General stood up and walked over to the map showing the current situation on the eastern front, “You are right, the Russians have already made two attempts to break through the encirclement, accompanied by counter-strikes from the outside. Both attempts ended unsuccessfully and were accompanied by heavy losses on their part. As a result, the situation of the encircled units only worsened. Now our troops have split them into two isolated pockets, and General Field Marshal von Bock estimates that only units of the enemy, still holding a small area west of Romny have any chance of a breakthrough.”

“They will strike this or next night, General,” said Richtengden confidently, “and if the Russian marksman is there, which I do not doubt, our troops will be attacked by night bombers. The marksman always uses tactics that once proved to be effective, repeatedly. Recall the situation with the bridge over the Dnieper. Almost immediately after its destruction, the Russian again used heavy howitzers to destroy the barrier put up by Major Schliemann. Now he had a positive experience with the bombers. I'm pretty sure he'll want to do it again, but on a new level and on a different scale.”

“And do you know how to stop it, Colonel?”

“We've had this problem before,” Richtengden nodded. “British bombers fly to bomb our cities precisely at night, and the Luftwaffe has learned well how to drop the Royal Air Force's Wellingtons from the sky. I have an acquaintance, Major Helm, and I have encountered him on some cases before the war. Now he is working on introducing the latest advances in radiolocation into the air defense system of our cities. He informed me that at the beginning of August, the range tests of the Lichtenstein onboard radar was successfully completed in Rechlin, and a group of engineers from Telefunken had installed several such stations on night fighters based at Leeuwarden. At first, our pilots made faces when too many external antennas were attached to their planes. In this case, the aircraft does lose speed, and the weighting of the nose leads to a decrease in controllability.

However, Oberleutnant Becker[1 - Ludwig Becker (22 August 1911 – 26 February 1943). One of the best night fighter pilots of the Luftwaffe, he developed tactics to counteract night raids on Germany by British bombers. He participated in tests of the first radars, won the first victory using "dark interception" (using radar). Becker destroyed about 30 enemy bombers. Becker died because of a mistake by his commanders, who decided to engage night fighters to repel daytime attacks by American bombers. On February 26, 1943, 12 night fighters attacked a group of B-24 Liberator heavy bombers over Helgoland Bay. The only German fighter shot down in that battle was the plane of the commander, Hauptmann Becker. The Americans lost seven bombers. Later on, the Luftwaffe night fighters suffered significant losses because the erroneous order to use them in the daytime was never rescinded.] in his Dornier equipped with an on-board radar shot down the Wellington flying to bomb Hamburg on the night of August 9-10. In his next night flights he scored five more impressive victories.”

“And you suggest that I convince the Luftwaffe command to move these planes near Kiev?”

“Not only them, Herr General. The marksman points the bombers at the target using radio communication. We'll need the best jamming systems we can find in the Reich, if we really want to upset the Russians' plans.”

“It's not going to be easy, Colonel, especially in terms of night fighters. I'm afraid I'll have to get approval from the very top.”

“The Russian will almost certainly be aboard one of the bombers. He can't know we have fighters able to reach the target without using ground searchlights, and that gives us a chance to close the marksman issue once and for all.”

The General strode thoughtfully through the office and stopped again at the map.

“Perhaps I'll find the right words for Admiral Canaris,” he nodded to his own thoughts. “The liquidation of the Russian troops encircled near Kiev is now considered the most important task on the entire Eastern Front, and no one wants to jeopardize it. Get ready, Colonel. You're flying into Guderian's Second Panzer Group today. I expect a detailed plan of the operation with a list of everything you need within an hour.”


* * *

“Note, this gun has its own specificity – high muzzle velocity. Accordingly, when shooting at an airborne target, you have to make a much smaller deflection than usual.”

Lena nodded seriously, but it was obvious that for her it was just words, and she did not yet understand how to put it into practice.

“Well, if it's clear to you, then let's shoot at the wooden model.”

At my request, Ignatov made a rather crude wooden model of a Messerschmitt. I did not need a detailed reproduction of the enemy plane, but it was necessary to accurately match the size ratio of the mockup to the real fighter. We naturally did not have the opportunity to conduct practical firing on the planes, but we could have plenty of fun simulating this fascinating process.

“Once again, the model is 40 times smaller than the real target, but it is also much closer to you, so when you shoot at the real enemy, it will look exactly the same as you see it now.”

I showed Lena two thin strips about a meter long, semi-rigidly fastened to the mockup, “With this simple device I will simulate the flight of a Messerschmitt. You point the gun at the target using deflection and pull the trigger. No shot, of course, but every time I'll tell you if you hit or miss.”

I finally figured out how to use my abilities to train our sniper to shoot at aerial targets. After all, promises have to be kept, and I didn't consider it possible to put it off any longer. The computer told me if the weapon was correctly aimed at the moment of firing, and Lena could practice as much as she wanted, or rather, as long as the superiors let us do it.

The "plane" made a standard U-turn, approaching the target, and I heard the dry click of the trigger.

“Missed! The deflection needs to be further reduced. In addition, the bullet went slightly above the target. We start again. I need you not just to hit the hull of the plane, but to hit the cockpit, the engine, or the fuel tank on my command. Let's go!”

Snap!

“Missed! The deflection was normal, but the bullet went lower. You incorrectly accounted for the angle of lift of the plane when exiting the attack. One more time!”

Snap!

“Bingo! Already better, you punctured its vertical stabilizer. The target, unfortunately, is still combat-ready. Are you ready? Let's keep going!”

“Missed!”

“Comrade Senior Lieutenant, allow me to address you!”

I turned around. Sergeant Nikiforov was standing at the exit to the courtyard.

“You are ordered to report immediately to the office of Comrade Senior Major.”

This could only mean one thing: the decision on my proposal has finally been made. I wonder what it is. I nodded to Lena and walked quickly toward the building.


* * *

The weirdness started towards the end of the day. First, the pilot received an order from air division headquarters to prepare for takeoff and await the arrival of a special NKVD representative, who was to be received on board and given access to surveillance equipment.

Lieutenant Kalina had landed his twin-engine Pe-2R at the airfield only a few hours before, and he knew very well, that the rare breaks in low cloud cover gave very little chance of seeing anything below. Besides, the Germans were just rampant. It was a good thing that the bomber, converted into a reconnaissance plane, was almost as fast as the Messerschmitts, but they still had to run away twice at full speed and even to shoot. They, of course, brought back some pictures, but Kalina himself clearly understood that, by and large, this flight was in vain.

And now he has to fly again, diving into that cloudy mess again, taking fire from the ground and constantly fearing attacks from enemy fighters. And then there's that special representative…

The hum of the engines distracted the Lieutenant from his thoughts. A PS-84 transport plane, escorted by three fighters, was coming in for a landing. To the Lieutenant's surprise, the Yaks did not leave for their airfield, but began to approach after the transport plane.

“This is your cover, Lieutenant,” said the squadron commander, who approached discreetly from behind, and nodded toward the Yaks.

“And why should I be honored like that, Comrade Captain?” Kalina pulled off his flight helmet and ruffled his hair.

“It's not for you,” said the commander, with a chuckle, “you're under the command of the senior lieutenant of state security for the duration of the flight. You and I are better off not knowing the name of this comrade, but any order he gives you is a law.”

A rather young officer in a NKVD uniform was heading toward them at a brisk pace from the transport plane. Kalina put his helmet back on and prepared to report in full form.


* * *

The commander of the German African Corps, General Erwin Rommel, watched grimly as his divisions were loaded onto transport ships. The port of Tripoli was full of tanks, guns, tractors and other military equipment. The infantry divisions from France and Italy were to temporarily replace his troops, which had already gained experience fighting in the desert. They had to make a long journey to Russia, to the Eastern Front.

The FГјhrer's order was a thunderbolt from a clear sky for Rommel. In Africa, a real success was emerging. The morale of British and Australian soldiers was shattered by the crushing defeats of the spring-summer campaign, they were forced to leave Benghazi, Sidi Omar and Al Saloum, German-Italian troops took the deep-water port of Tobruk under tight siege.

And now he could just forget all these victories. There will be no new offensive in Egypt, no decisive storming of Tobruk. Despite the unambiguous order received from Berlin, Rommel did not know how to look the Italian generals in the eyes. He felt like a traitor, even though it was not he who made the decision to replace his tanks with infantry. And besides, the General couldn't shake the feeling that he had had a victory stolen from him, a real big victory, which might have been the pinnacle of his military career.

Well, he guessed that one could see better from Berlin, and Moscow really was much more important than Tobruk, Al-Alamein or even Cairo, but at the moment Rommel was in no way relieved by this understanding.




Chapter 2


The Pe-2 took off when it was no more than a couple of hours before sunset. A bomber converted for air reconnaissance purposes, was gaining altitude easily.

I pointed out the course to the crew commander and took the gunner-radio operator's seat.






Pe-2. Soviet World War II dive bomber. In the Soviet Air Force it had the nickname "Pawn". It was originally designed as a high-speed high-altitude fighter. The Pe-2 was used not only as a bomber, but also as a reconnaissance aircraft. Maximum speed 540 km/h. Practical ceiling: 8,700 m. Practical range 1,200 km. Bomb load up to one ton. Firearms (1941) – four ShKAS machine guns (7.62 mm).



The three fighters that made up our cover stayed slightly above our Pe-2, keeping a close eye on the aerial situation. We flew directly over the clouds, which had become a little less dense by evening, and sometimes we could see the earth between the clouds. At times the cloud cover became multi-layered, and then we lost sight of our escort for a while.

We passed the front line more or less calmly, but then the problems began immediately. Neither Lieutenant Kalina nor fighter pilots saw any danger yet, but the enemy air surveillance service was well organized, and our flight over the forward positions of the Germans did not go unnoticed.

Four Messerschmitts were approaching us from the southwest. They were still quite far away, but they were flying confidently, and it was never in my plans to meet them.

“Course north-northwest,” I ordered the pilot and duplicated the command over the radio to the Yaks.

Of course, I wasn't going to actually scout the area – satellites were much better for that, but I had to at least visit the areas that would later be bombed, otherwise I would have to answer a lot of uncomfortable questions again. Naturally, no one knew about it except me, and everyone else involved, including the Germans, took what was going on with complete seriousness.

The enemy was extremely negative to the idea of our reconnaissance flight over their territory. We changed course, and this resulted in the Messerschmitts sent to intercept us just not finding us. Nevertheless, more and more ground observers saw us, and soon the computer alerted me to the appearance of three more pairs of enemy fighters in dangerous proximity.

Of course I was jamming, but frankly, I didn't want to jam the Germans' communications at all. I had already abused this opportunity several times when there was simply no other way out, but the Germans are not idiots, and are quite capable of putting two and two together and realizing that their problems with communication occur exactly in those places, where this strange Russian appears. However, I was going to remedy this situation by arranging a dozen other similar anomalies a little later in various places, including not only the Eastern Front, but also Europe and even Africa. This, of course, should have been taken care of earlier, but…

After about half an hour, it was clear that we couldn't dodge another unpleasant encounter. We were almost caught in a pincer movement between the enemy planes, and now all that was left was to choose the most inconvenient course for the Germans, which I did. As a result, the main part of the pursuers stretched after us in a long chain of planes flying from different directions and at different altitudes, but we had no way to dodge a pair of Messerschmitts, which flew almost toward us.

“"Blackbirds", attention! Enemy at two o'clock. Height two and a half,” I warned our escort. “Don't change the course.”

“Comrade Senior Lieutenant of State Security, maybe it would be better to change course?” the crew commander had not yet seen the enemy, but he did not dare to question the information about him, “If we are discovered, there will be a whole crowd of Messerschmitts here in ten minutes.”

“The course is the same,” I repeated calmly. “The Germans already know about us. We don't have much time, and I haven't seen everything I need to see.”

“Yes,” Kalina thought it best not to contradict the NKVD special representative, but it was obvious that in his mind he had only strengthened the thought, that this flight was a meaningless adventure. I understood the crew chief perfectly. Cloud breaks were rare, and he, as an experienced aerial reconnaissance man, knew very well, that it was completely impossible to get a picture of the situation on the ground from these fragments.

“I see the enemy!” a report came in from one of the "Blackbirds". “A pair of Messerschmitts. We've been spotted. They are in no hurry to attack – we outnumber them.”

“If they go on the attack, bind them up by battle.”

“Copy that!”

I understood the motives behind the Germans' behavior. The enemy pilots did not want to rush into an attack of two against three without the surprise factor. They thought we weren't going anywhere, because other pairs of fighters, lifted from nearby airfields, were already rushing to the scene.

For a minute we continued to fly in the same direction, and meanwhile the situation was becoming more and more threatening. The fighters following us were slowly closing the distance, and the augmented reality mode drew me the marks of more and more enemy planes joining the hunt. In my opinion, the Germans overreacted, showing a very painful reaction to our raid.

“Take a course north,” I ordered, realizing that we were already over the territory occupied by the encircled troops of the Southwestern Front, and there was no point in going any farther west.

A couple of seconds before I changed course, I still jammed the airwaves completely. Only to the Germans, of course. Our escort continued to take my commands.

In this way I hoped for a time to deceive the pursuers, who were following us, and make them move for a while on the former course, which now was diverging from our course. In about ten minutes I was going to turn east, as it was becoming too dangerous to stay in enemy airspace.

“The Messerschmitts are attacking!” I heard a shout from one of the pilots in our escort.

The pilots of the pair of Messerschmitts who had reached us quickly realized that no one could hear their reports about the change of course by the Russians, and decided to bind us up by battle themselves to prevent us from getting far away.

Having risen to a considerable height, the Germans attacked our escort in a dive. In aerial combat, especially at the local level of technology, the element of chance plays a very significant role.

The leading Messerschmitt opened fire from a distance of 200 meters. It is not easy to hit from such a distance, but the German was lucky. A machine-gun burst crossed the cockpit of the leading plane of the three Yaks, and the "Blackbird-1" flipped over the wing and went into an uncontrollable fall.

The return bursts of our fighters did not reach the target, and neither did the shots of the German pair's wingman. But now the balance of power was evened out, unless, of course, our Pe-2 was counted as a fighting unit, and the Germans did not take it seriously.

Despite the lack of communication, several enemy fighters from the pursuit group continued to catch up with us. Perhaps they received a visual indication from the ground, or simply decided to widen the search sector, but the fact remained – I only partially succeeded in the course change and jamming.

The air battle, meanwhile, continued, and combat luck was clearly not on the side of the Soviet pilots today. The air division commander assured me that he was assigning his best pilots to accompany me, but having lost their leader, they seemed to have lost their composure after all. The second attack by the Messerschmitts was effective again. This time, however, they did not win an uncontested victory, but a dark plume of smoke followed one of the Yaks, although the pilot did not seem to have lost control of the plane.

“Comrade Senior Lieutenant of State Security, we have to get out of here!” I heard the desperation in the voice of the Pe-2 commander. “Permission to change course!”

“Stop panicking!” I growled at the Lieutenant, “"Blackbird-3", what's wrong with the plane?”

“The engine is damaged, but it's still working,” I heard the pilot's strained voice, “Oil splashes on the cockpit canopy. There is almost no visibility.”

“"Blackbird-3", get out of the fight! "Blackbird-2", pull the Messerschmitts on me!”

“"Blackbird-2" did not understand the command! Please confirm the order!” immediately responded the pilot of the last intact Yak.

The navigator of the Pe-2 also looked at me like I was crazy. Lieutenant Kalina couldn't take his eyes off the plane, but he, too, twitched in his seat when he heard my command.

“"Blackbird-2", I need you to get the Germans into my rear hemisphere machine gun range. Is that clear now?”

“Doin' it,” the fighter pilot said after a second, but it was clear from his voice that he thought my order was nonsense. However, he quickly lost interest in the NKVD special representative, who had lost his mind, because two Messerschmitts immediately attacked his Yak.

Nevertheless, the pilot complied with the order. The combat between the fighters took place about a kilometer above us, and the "Blackbird-2", once again attacked from above, tried to pull away from the Germans in a steep dive. He chose his direction so that the Messerschmitts, which followed him, at some point were above our Pe-2, lagging slightly behind it. This arrangement suited the Germans well, too, as it gave them, with some luck, the opportunity to take out the last Russian fighter and the sluggish but fast bomber in one go.

“Do not change course! No evasive maneuvers!” I ordered Lieutenant Kalina and took my place behind the machine gun, “If you interfere with my aiming, you'll be court-martialed!”

“Copy that!” the pilot answered in a strained voice.

The ShKAS machine gun was undoubtedly one of the brightest examples of engineering at the time of its creation. Its designers, Shpitalny and Komaritsky, managed to combine the best solutions of that time, used separately in other automatic weapons. The result was a machine gun with a very high rate of fire for its time – 1,800 rounds per minute. After a number of "child illnesses" were eliminated, the reliability of the ShKAS was brought up to quite an acceptable level, but it was still very sensitive to any dirtiness, which in real combat conditions led to frequent malfunctions and to the failure of attempts to use it anywhere but aircraft.

I carefully inspected my ShKAS machine gun before the flight and found its condition to be quite satisfactory. The other thing is that the rifle caliber of this machine gun was still too small for 1941. Even the high rate of fire did not compensate for this drawback. The increased power of aircraft engines allowed German designers to significantly strengthen the armor of the Messerschmitts, giving good protection to the pilot and the most important components of the fighter. That's why I ordered the captain not to jerk the plane on course – I needed the best possible accuracy, because I could only hit the enemy aircraft in vulnerable spots, and it wasn't easy to hit them.

The Germans, inspired by the successful start of the battle, decided not to delay in destroying the Russians and distribute the targets among themselves. I do not know how they agreed on this in the absence of communication, but the leader of the pair of Messerschmitts continued to pursue the Yak, and his wingman slightly corrected the course and began to approach our Pe-2 from behind.

At 400 meters the German pilot felt comfortable enough, not too afraid of the machine guns of the Russian bomber. He was in no hurry to shoot himself, either – after all, the distance was great, and his ammunition supply was not infinite. I turned the machine gun on the turret slightly and fired a short burst toward the enemy. It wasn't very accurate, but it gave the computer a lot of information to make adjustments to the guidance system.

The German did not even flinch when several tracers flashed to the right and above his plane. My machine gun's belt was mixed with rounds of armor-piercing, incendiary, and armor-piercing tracer bullets. It was thought that this approach contributed to the combined defeat of the enemy aircraft, although I would have preferred to limit it to armor-piercing ammunition only.

The enemy plane was only 350 meters away. A little more, and the enemy will try to hide in the dead zone, where my fire will be hindered by the tail of my own plane. I wasn't going to let that happen. A burst! The hits were visible even to the naked eye. I aimed for the cockpit, as the Messerschmitt was descending with its nose down, and the engine wasn't obscuring it. A second later, the enemy disappeared from my sight. He never fired a shot, but the computer only repainted its marker yellow – apparently, it wasn't sure of my shooting score.

“"Blackbird-2", are you alive?” the marker of the last Yak also turned yellow, but after a couple of seconds it turned green again.

“He made holes in my wings, the bastard,” the pilot replied. “The plane obeys the rudders. The engine works.”

The leader of the pair of Messerschmitts stopped chasing the Yak and joined his wingman, who was barely keeping his plane in the air. The plane itself did not appear to be seriously damaged, but the pilot was apparently injured. The fighter was yawing from side to side, and was pressing closer and closer to the ground. The computer repainted its mark a gray-yellow color, deeming the target practically unfit for duty.

“We're going home,” I ordered, and then the German pilot finally lost control of his plane.

The fiery flower of an explosion blossomed below – the wingman of the pair of Messerschmitts fell into the woods. I cursed quietly to myself. It was not difficult to predict what the surviving enemy would do now.

I took a quick look at the situation. We changed course again sharply, and the other pursuers must have lost us. It took another five minutes to reach the front line, but it was clear that the bothersome Messerschmitt would not leave us alone.

“Lieutenant, get down on the ground! "Blackbird-2", don't let him come at me from the side – let him try to attack from behind.”

The German did not attack from the side. Taking advantage of the fact that near the ground our speed did not exceed 450 kilometers per hour, the Messerschmitt gained an altitude of about one kilometer and rushed to attack from top to back. He apparently considered the death of his wingman to be an accident, insane luck, for which the gunner of the Russian bomber should pay with his life.

“Waiting for orders!” the Yak pilot reminded me of himself.

“Go up a little higher and attack him if he changes course and comes in from the other side.”

“Understood. I'm on it.”

The pilot and navigator of the Pe-2 were silent. After destroying one of the Messerschmitts, they had no desire at all to interfere in the battle management or to challenge my actions in any way.

“This is "Blackbird-2". Strong vibration when climbing. Engine loses power!”

“"Blackbird-2", hold on a little longer. I need you here for a few more minutes.”

“The altitude is 600 meters.”

“That's enough. Stay out of the attack. Just let the German see you.”

The enemy is 500 meters away. That's a long way. It is possible to hit it, of course, but the killing power of ShKAS bullets is no longer the same at that distance. The Pe-2 flies to the front line, nestling almost to the treetops of a small forested area. As luck would have it, the cloud cover thinned and the German is falling on us from above, as if at an exercise.

400 meters. I guess it's too early to shoot – I don't want to scare off the enemy. If he refuses to attack and tries to come in from the side, it will be much more difficult – in the Pe-2 defense this is another weak point.

300 meters.

“This is "Blackbird-2". Permission to attack! He's going to shoot you!”

“Stand down!”

The distance is 250 meters. I think it's time. The aiming markers aligned on the enemy plane. The computer shows the probability of hitting the target at the edge of my field of view. Almost 90 %. A burst! It is beginning to get dark, and tracers paint the sky with bright strokes. Missed! How did he make it?! What did he feel? I don't have an answer, but at the last moment the Messerschmitt twitched to the side and the burst went by. Now he's going to go into a blind spot, and it's going to be really bad. A wounded Yak is no help to us, hence… A burst! Some rags fly from our own tail – a couple of my bullets stroke against the keel of the plane. A hundred meters away, a hot fire is blazing right through the sky. Still, the incendiary bullets that could set even a protected gas tank on fire came in handy. The German shoots back. It looks like he's just guessing, but our long-suffering tail catches another hit.

“How's the plane?”

“It obeys the rudders,” answers Lieutenant Kalina in a slightly hoarse voice.

Below us there is a bright flash – a shot-down Messerschmitt has met the ground.


* * *

Staff Sergeant Silin, call sign "Blackbird-2", followed the landing of the bomber and also led his fighter to the ground. The plane obeyed him reluctantly, as if it had suddenly become many hundreds of kilos heavier. The landing gear struts came out smoothly, good thing there was no problem with that at least, and the Yak rolled hard on the ground of the runway.

A little to the side, Silin noticed the plane of Junior Lieutenant Kostrov, all blackened, with the cockpit canopy splattered with oil. So Ivan made it to the airfield, and even managed to land the damaged plane. That's good, though of course they won't get their commander back.

The Staff Sergeant struggled to get out of the cockpit and took a couple of steps toward the men running toward him.

“Are you hurt?” Silin was asked by an unfamiliar technician who ran up first.

“No,” the pilot shook his head in the negative, “but it looks like the fighter needs some serious repairs.”

“You've been through a lot.”

“We lost our commander. He was killed with the first burst – no luck. But we took out two of them, too.”

“Well, if they confirm it,” the technician nodded toward the Pe-2, "I think they'll give you both wins. Who distinguished himself?”

“They did,” said Silin with a crooked grin.

“I don't understand…”

“And what is there to understand? Both fascists were driven into the ground by the Pawn's gunner. That's how it happens.”




Chapter 3


As Sudoplatov told me in the morning, the Headquarters of the Supreme High Command had already prepared another plan to unblock the troops, encircled in the Kiev pocket, without my brilliant advice. This time the plan was to launch simultaneous strikes from outside and inside the ring at night to negate German air superiority in the initial phase of the operation.

Beria hesitated for a long time before informing Stalin of my proposal, but it required virtually no changes to the already developed plan, and the head of the NKVD decided that it couldn't get any worse.

After heavy losses suffered by Soviet long-range aviation at the beginning of the war, the Supreme Commander-in-Chief forbade the use of the TB-7 without his direct permission, so the Commissar of Internal Affairs had to resolve the issue directly with the Chief. Despite Beria's fears, Stalin hardly hesitated.

“Go ahead, Comrade Beria,” he nodded as he listened to the Commissar's report. “We are obliged to take every opportunity to increase our chances of a successful operation. Within reasonable limits, of course, and under your personal responsibility.”

As a result, the implementation of my plan ended up in the hands of the NKVD, and I still had to report to my direct superior.

“Comrade Senior Major of State Security,” I began my report as soon as we were alone, “the reconnaissance flight was successful. The data for the night bombing strike is sufficiently collected. One fighter was lost. The pilot was killed. The other planes sustained varying degrees of damage.”

“I'm surprised you came back from there at all,” Sudoplatov answered grimly. “Mark on the map what you saw, and you can rest for a couple of hours. TB-7s and Yer-2s will be over our airfield at exactly zero o'clock. By that time you should already be in the air.”


* * *

The Headquarters of the Supreme High Command plan was not bad, but it had no chance of success because of the incorrect background information underlying it. The Red Army's intelligence could not uncover the Germans' plan and did not notice how the Wehrmacht's Fourth Panzer Group, which had been advancing on Leningrad until then, suddenly disappeared from under the besieged city and was redeployed to the Moscow direction. The cunning Germans left one of the radio operators of the Panzer Group near Leningrad, who had a specific easily recognizable 'handwriting' – individual features of signal transmission – , and the radio reconnaissance did not reveal any dramatic changes in the German forces.

The enemy was preparing for an attack on Moscow, gathering virtually all of its tank forces into a single fist, except for Kleist's First Panzer Group, which had gone south to capture the Donbass. But even without it, such forces were concentrated on the Moscow direction, to which the 21st and 40th Armies could not oppose anything. In addition, General Rommel's divisions, which had just arrived in France from North Africa, were reinforced with new tanks and other equipment and were preparing to move to Bryansk and Vyazma.

Only the need to finally eliminate the grouping of Soviet troops near Kiev, which was encircled and already split into two parts, was holding back the whole German armada from rushing to the Soviet capital.

However, the Soviet command did not know all this, and now the two armies were preparing to launch an unblocking strike, while the troops of the Bryansk Front had to actively bind up the German forces in order to make it difficult for the enemy to transfer reserves to the threatened directions. The armies in the pocket assembled few combat-ready formations to break through. Driver mechanics poured the last liters of fuel into the tanks of several dozen surviving combat vehicles, and artillerymen gathered the pitiful remains of ammunition for the few serviceable guns from field depots. I knew I couldn't get everyone out of the pocket, but I was going to give at least some of them a chance.

When Lieutenant Kalina's Pe-2, hastily repaired, took off, the entire horizon to the west was already thundering with explosions and glowing with white chemical light from the many hundreds of "chandeliers" suspended over the battlefield by our troops and the Germans.

We took off just in time. Two flights of TB-7s and four Yer-2s were approaching the front line a couple of kilometers behind our aircraft at an altitude of 6,000 meters. Ten long-range bombers, as I requested. All together they carried 40 tons of high-explosive bombs weighing from 250 kilograms to a ton.

So far the armies of Kuznetsov and Podlas have been successful. The plan called for two powerful converging strikes in the general direction of Romny. Both commanders managed to stealthily move the BM-13 divisions assigned to them into position at dusk. The Germans, confident in the effectiveness of their aerial reconnaissance, did not expect massive artillery fire, and the barrage of rockets that fell on their heads literally wiped out the enemy's forward positions.

Tank brigades assigned by the Headquarters of the Supreme High Command for this operation rushed into the gap that had formed. T-34s and KVs, which the Germans had great difficulty with, accounted for about half of these brigades.

Nevertheless, the initial success threatened to quickly wane. Information about strike directions had already reached German headquarters, and right now the fine-tuned mechanism for countering Soviet counterstrikes, which had already been worked out by the Wehrmacht to the finest detail during the first months of the war was beginning to work.

The enemy could not use aviation because it was dark, but it was not the first time the Germans had fought in weather conditions that prevented their fighters and bombers from flying, and they had many other effective means to repel the attack, chief among which were 88mm antiaircraft guns, which could be launched on direct fire, and motorized formations, which could be moved quickly to the breakout points to deliver flanking blows to the Soviet forces that had broken through.

It was this scenario that I intended to prevent.

“"Shark One", this is "Hornet". Are you ready to receive target coordinates?”

“"Hornet", this is "Shark One",” the heavy bomber group commander responded without delay, “I can hear you all right. Ready to receive coordinates.”


* * *

The commander of the Third Armored Division of the Wehrmacht, General von Schweppenburg, listened to the chief of staff's report and moved quickly into the room, where the maps of the battle area were laid out on the table. Several large wooden houses, from which the inhabitants had been evicted beforehand, were occupied by division headquarters, providing at least minimal comfort in the barbaric conditions with which von Schweppenburg had so often had to put up in this wild country.

True, the warning came not from Colonel General Guderian, but from some Berlin fop from the Abwehr, so von Schweppenburg didn't take it too seriously. As it turned out, the Abwehrman was right.

The locations of Soviet strikes had already been mapped. The Reds' plan was not original. Using the night attack to break through the front in two places 30 kilometers apart, then introduce tank brigades into the breakthrough, link up behind the back of the infantry division, block it, reach the inner perimeter of the pocket and break through a corridor to their surrounded armies, attacking from the rear against the infantry units holding it.

“Put me through to the headquarters of the Fifth Tank Regiment!” demanded Schweppenburg.

“The telephone connection is broken, Herr General!” the communications officer on duty reported a minute later. “Troubleshooting is already underway, but it will take time.”

“Then get on the radio! Do I have to teach you your job, Stabsfeldwebel?”

“There is interference on the air, Herr General. We have been calling the Fifth Regiment Headquarters continuously, but there has been no answer so far.”

“Then send a liaison agent with orders to Colonel Brown to raise the regiment on alert immediately. At 2:30 I want to see his tanks right here!” Schweppenburg turned to the chief of staff, showing the point on the map from which the arrow of the Russian tank strike began, “This road must be cut as quickly as possible and the 44th Infantry Division must be unblocked. The Austrians aren't bad soldiers, but I wouldn't want to test their resilience in an encirclement for long…”

The General's speech was interrupted by a growing whistle, clearly audible even through the closed windows. None of the four 500-kilogram bombs dropped from a height of two kilometers hit the headquarters buildings directly, but that was not required. The shock wave flattened the wooden buildings, knocking even the stone stoves off their foundations and burying the division commander and his staff officers under a pile of rubble.


* * *

It must have seemed to the commanders of the brigades and divisions going into attack, as well as to the common Red Army soldiers and tankers who tried to break the German defense in a night battle and get through to their encircled comrades, that the operation was going according to plan, the enemy was retreating and, in some places, fleeing. We need to push harder, and the enemy's resistance will be finally broken.

When viewed from orbit, a completely different picture emerged. The balance of forces was not at all in favor of the Soviets, especially in tanks and mobile units. Having received a painful blow which was actually not a fatal one, the Wehrmacht began to turn toward the offender to inflict a crushing defeat on him.

“"Shark 3", this is "Hornet". Seven and a half degrees to your left. You're almost over the target. Strike with two FAB-500s. Stand by.”

“"Shark 3" understands the order. Standing by.”

“"Shark 3", ten seconds… Bombs away!”

I just did not have time to correct the strikes of ten bombers at the same time. Sometimes they had to be taken out on the second or even third approach. The accuracy of the bombs dropping also did not always make it possible to hit the target the first time. Sometimes my commands were executed with slight delays or not quite accurately, and then again I had to attack the target again, which meant that the Germans below already knew about the danger, which reduced the effectiveness of the strikes.

Nevertheless, the complex army organism of the German Army Group near Kiev now resembled a mighty giant, that had received a non-lethal, but very high dose of nerve gas. Some commands managed to reach the units and subdivisions, others were cut off halfway, when the enemy's headquarters and communications centers were in ruins. Tank and motorized units moved in different directions, often only having orders to march, but receiving no further instructions. On top of all this chaos was the night time and the impossibility of aerial reconnaissance. However, the Wehrmacht was strong not only for its generals. The Germans also had enough proactive and qualified mid-level officers, and despite the partial loss of command of the troops, opposition to the Soviet offensive armies was gradually building up.

The biggest problem for the enemy were the two strike groups consisting of KV and T-34 tanks. The standard German tactic of artillery ambushes using anti-aircraft guns capable of penetrating their armor was now failing. Convoys of tractors with 88-millimeter guns, which were moving toward the site of the breakthrough, were hit by occasional, but unexpectedly accurate bomb strikes, bumped into destroyed bridges, or simply did not receive orders to move in time.

Things were worse for the encircled troops, who struck against the Germans in the direction of the 40th and 21st Armies. Their small number of tanks, assembled in a single breakthrough group, were able to do very little, they only broke through the first line of the enemy's defense. This strike was not unexpected for the Germans, and they had time to prepare to repel it. Nevertheless, after receiving radio reports of the successful advance of the tank brigades, the Soviets increased the pressure from inside the ring. Even the weaker part of the encircled troops, blocked by the Germans north of Lokhvitsa, attempted a breakthrough, not in the eastern direction, as the enemy expected, but in the northern direction, hoping to connect with the main forces of the encircled.

“"Hornet", I can't hear you! There's a lot of interference!”

There was a crackling and howling coming out of my receiver, too. I distracted myself from controlling the bombers, which were already very far apart, and concentrated on finding the source of the interference. It looked like the enemy decided to make it difficult for me to coordinate the air group. Nine interference generators started working simultaneously below, jamming the frequency bands known to the Germans, on which radio communications between Soviet pilots were conducted. This problem arose at a very bad time, and although the way to solve it was on the surface, I needed time to switch to the predetermined backup frequencies and rearrange the command transmission scheme to retransmit via satellites. As it turned out, I didn't have that time.

“"Hornet",”… is "Shark 8",… attacked by ene……ter. Engi… dama… Losing alti…”.

I swore to myself in three languages, cursing my own stupidity and improvidence. How could I have missed those planes? Five Dorniers, converted to night fighters, came into range of my TB-7s and Yer-2s. The communication finally got back on track, but that didn't make it any easier.

“This is "Shark 4". Fighting an enemy fighter. I can't see anything, and he's firing with aim! Dropping the rest of the bomb load! Third engine's damaged! Right wing's on fire! We're going down! Flight crew, get out of the plane!”

Where did they come from? I knew that the Germans had night fighters as part of the air defense forces in the cities, but these machines could not operate on their own, without radio guidance from the ground and without illuminating the target with dozens, if not hundreds, of searchlights.

“"Sharks" 5, 9 and 10 heading strictly east! "Sharks" 3 and 6 heading northeast! Don't drop the bombs, they'll come in handy.” I tried to get my planes out of harm's way, but the enemy Dorniers also changed course, catching up with the not-so-fast heavy bombers.

“Lieutenant, head southwest!” I shouted to Kalina. Now in the sky over the battlefield no one but my Pe-2 could prevent the Germans from shooting our TB-7s and Yer-2s with impunity.

I kept giving commands to the bombers. At this point they were two-thirds clear of the bomb load, but there were still plenty of targets below.

“"Shark 6", three degrees to the left. Prepare to drop all remaining bombs!”

I could see that the bomber could not evade pursuit – it had gotten too far away, and my Pe-2 simply had no time to come to its rescue, but the cruel arithmetic of war demanded that I use the bomb load of the doomed plane with maximum efficiency.

“"Shark 6", 70 meters to the right… Drop the bombs! In a couple of minutes you will be attacked by a German fighter. I'll try to cover you, but I need time. The enemy will come in from behind-bottom. You will not see it, but on my command you will open barrage fire – let the enemy think he has been detected. Your task is to hold out for ten minutes.”

“"Hornet", this is "Shark 6". Copy that. Awaiting orders.”

I had eight planes demanding my attention at the same time, and I just didn't have enough time to figure out what was going on. I hastily ordered the computer to analyze the weaponry and equipment of the enemy fighters. They somehow navigated in complete darkness and with no communication with ground services, which means they had something on board that the Germans had not used before.

“"Shark 6", open barrage fire!”

I didn't have time to help the bomber after all. By the time my Pe-2 arrived at the scene of the air battle, the bomber was already on fire and the crew was leaving the doomed plane. The trick of shooting somewhere in the direction of the enemy Dornier gave the TB-7 some time, which caused the German to miss on the first approach and shoot not too accurately on the second approach. However, the enemy pilot did not miss his chance on the third attempt.


* * *

Oberleutnant Becker did not know much about the strategy and tactics of ground troops. His speciality was the sky, and, as practice has shown in recent months, it was the night sky. Nevertheless, even to him, a night fighter pilot, it quickly became apparent that something was not going right on the ground as the generals would have liked.

The hum of the cannonade came from both the west and the east. The radio air was clogged with interference, so a Feldwebel sent from the headquarters of the air group, to which his squadron was temporarily attached, brought Becker the command to take off. The Russian night bombers, about which Colonel Richtengden had warned the Oberleutnant, were already hovering over the combat zone, and the commanders of the Wehrmacht ground units complained about the painful air strikes, using very strong terms. Judging by the number and relative positioning of the affected units, Becker and four other Dorniers from his squadron were going to have to deal with a dozen or two adversaries. This did not embarrass the Oberleutnant – in the skies over German cities he had to meet many more British, and the Russians do not expect effective countermeasures and would be easy prey.

The heavy twin-engine jet fighter accelerated briskly down the runway and lifted off the ground. Perhaps Becker would have preferred to go into battle in a Messerschmitt Bf.110, but they had not yet had time to equip them with radars, and he had to make do with what was available. The Dornier also proved to be a good fighter in night conditions, and, by and large, the Oberleutnant was satisfied with his plane.

Making a U-turn over the airfield, Becker set a course for the site of the last air strike, information of which came just a few minutes before takeoff. The rest of his squadron's fighters were given other targets – there was no shortage of them, the angry cries from headquarters at all levels came through the communications lines in a steady stream, though, as Becker suspected, not everyone was able to reach his air group.

“Here they are!” Obergefreiter Gönsler, who served as flight mechanic and radio operator at the same time, reported. “The locator sees them! Judging by the size of the mark, it's a four-engine heavy bomber. The Russians have only a few dozen of them. It would be great luck if we could take it down.”

“Not if, but when, Wilhelm,” Becker grinned. “Turn on the infrared spotlight. The radar is a good thing, but the night sight gives more detail, even though it works at a shorter distance.”

“The Spanner-1 complex is ready, Herr Oberleutnant,” the flight mechanic said as he checked the sight-searchlight combination, “The enemy is changing course! They're trying to get away!”

“It was an accident,” Becker brushed it aside. “The Russians can't see us. They have nothing like our equipment. They just changed course for the next target. They won't get away from us – the Dornier has one and a half times the speed of this bast shoe.”

Far ahead, the ground was covered with flashes of explosions.

“Well, that's right!” Becker nodded to himself, “They were approaching a new target, so they changed course. Too bad we didn't have time to take them down before they bombed out.”

There it is, the Russian bomber. Huge, even compared to a twin-engine heavy fighter, but that doesn't help it… In the night sight, the plane, illuminated by an infrared spotlight, looked very contrasting, and the Oberleutnant slightly raised the nose of his plane, bringing the silhouette of the TB-7 into the sight.






The TB-7 (other names: Pe-8, ANT-42) was a Soviet heavy long-range bomber. Maximum speed (1941) – up to 350 km/h. Bomb load up to 5,000 kg. Practical range – 3,600 km. Practical ceiling 9,300 m. Shooting armament: four machine guns (ShKAS, UBT), two ShVAK cannons (20 mm).



Suddenly flashes flickered ahead, and tracers streaked across the sky, first to the right and above, and then a dozen meters below Becker's plane.

“Shit,” Oberleutnant swore, pulling the plane sideways and simultaneously firing his direct fire machine guns.

“There was no damage to the Russians,” said the flight mechanic with concern in his voice. “They are not changing course. It looks like they can see us after all, Herr Oberleutnant.”

“Even if they do, they don't see us well. The shooting was indirect, but you're right, they knew about us.”

The second attempt did not bring the expected result either. This time Becker decided to approach from the side, but the Russian bomber met him with two machine guns. The Oberleutnant did not try his luck, and after firing at the enemy at maximum range, approached him again from behind. The German pilot felt annoyed. He knew for sure the Russian shooters couldn't see him and were shooting just "somewhere over there," but Becker didn't want to run into a stray burst.

The third run was more successful. The bomber's aft gun mount was firing in a totally different sector from where Becker's Dornier was approaching its target, and the Oberleutnant, firing almost at point-blank range, put two long bursts into the huge carcass of the Russian plane.

“The Russian is on fire! Congratulations, Herr Oberleutnant!”

“There's plenty more of them here, Willie. We're going to have a rough night tonight,” Becker smiled.

“One more mark!” The flight mechanic shouted out in a suddenly changed voice. “It's something small, like our Dornier.”

“The Russians have twin-engine long-range bombers. I think the Yer-2, or something like that.”

“Not likely, Herr Oberleutnant. The speed is too high. It's going faster than us!”

“Pe-2? A dive fighter? The Russians originally designed it as a high-altitude fighter, then converted it to a bomber, but it still had pretty good speed. Point out the course, and we'll take him down.”

“It's coming to us itself, commander!" answered Gönsler in a puzzled voice, "The distance is a kilometer.”

“I see it!” The Russian plane was already quite distinguishable in the night sight, “right, Pe-2. It's going too boldly.”

Oberleutnant Becker was an experienced pilot, and he did not suffer from overconfidence. He remembered how strangely the crew of the downed bomber had behaved, having somehow learned of the danger before his Dornier had even opened fire. The German pilot drew conclusions. Becker decided that the Russians also had some kind of radar, but a very imperfect one that did not allow to accurately determine the direction of the target. So he simply changed course to attack the Pe-2 from the side.

“The Russian turned too!” immediately shouted out the flight mechanic. “The distance is 400 meters!”

“Take it easy, Willie,” Becker replied in a steady voice, though he himself was no longer confident.

“300 meters!”

Flashes flickered ahead. The tracer flashes passed close to the pilot's cockpit. Becker heard a sharp popping sound that no experienced pilot would ever confuse – the sound of bullets piercing the hull of the airplane.

The flight mechanic shrieked. The neon lights of the radar equipment blinked and went out. The right engine stalled and immediately burst into flames, and the Russian gunner's merciless bursts continued to pound the hull and cockpit of the plane. Not a single bullet has, by some miracle, hit Becker yet. Oberleutnant glanced at the flight mechanic. Willie was dead, there was no doubt about it, and the battered Dornier was losing control with every second.

“Crew, get off the plane!” Becker ordered himself.

The cockpit canopy flew off into the darkness; it was knocked out by the triggered squib. With an unbelievable effort the Oberleutnant managed to flip the burning Dornier, and he simply fell out of the cockpit, into the air, scalding cold at this altitude.

“I wonder who's down there,” thought Becker, swinging under the parachute canopy. He absolutely did not want to fall into the hands of the Bolsheviks.


* * *

An airborne radar, and even with a night sight and an infrared searchlight in addition! Why didn't I know about this? Probably because it is simply impossible to keep track of everything. The Germans just got their radar up to working order. This "Lichtenstein" has not even gone into production yet, and here it is, near Kiev, instead of protecting the capital of the Reich from raids by the British.

The Germans knew! They were waiting for us and getting ready, and I failed to calculate their plans, and it cost the Red Army's already depleted long-range aviation new losses. Five heavy long-range bombers in exchange for three German Dorniers. Two more got away – I just didn't have time to get to them…

“Comrade Senior Major of State Security, mission accomplished. Bomb strikes on enemy headquarters, communication centers and key infrastructure were carried out. The air group's losses were three TB-7s and two Yer-2s. Three enemy night fighters, provided with the latest equipment, enabling them to attack our planes without being illuminated by searchlights and without commands from the ground, are destroyed.”

“Five long-range bombers?” It was dark, but I noticed the change in Sudoplatov's expression. “You lost half the unique aircraft entrusted to you and you report a successful mission?”

“Mission accomplished, comrade…”

“Silence! Senior Lieutenant of State Security Nagulin, you're under arrest! Surrender your weapons.”




Chapter 4


“Comrade People's Commissar of Internal Affairs, your order has been carried out. Senior Lieutenant Nagulin was arrested by me personally right at the airfield and taken to Moscow.”

“Very well,” nodded Beria, looking intently at Sudoplatov. “Come in, Pavel Anatolievich, have a seat. I see you have questions about this case, and I'm ready to answer them.”

“Actually, I only have one question,” Sudoplatov shrugged and sat down in a chair at the conference table. “Why?”

“He is dangerous,” Beria answered briefly, and the Senior Major did not like the expression on his face.

“I absolutely agree with you, Lavrentiy Pavlovich,” replied Sudoplatov, who was not so easily embarrassed, “He is extremely dangerous. To our enemies.”

“Now, yes, but this is now. I look at the situation from a broader perspective and from a different angle. At the moment, the Soviet Union and Citizen Nagulin have a common enemy, and as long as that is the case, he acts as our ally, but he is a stranger here, Pavel Anatolievich. Think about it. You, me, and all of our comrades are Soviet people who grew up, were educated, and had careers in the USSR. Yes, the older generation remembers Czarist Russia, but that was a long time ago. Since then, the very idea of life has changed, new values have been formed, and we are waging a merciless war against the enemy for those values. Nagulin is a stranger here. Our system, all the achievements of the Revolution, are just words to him, behind which there is nothing.”

“That does not mean that he is an enemy,” Sudoplatov disagreed.

“It doesn't,” nodded Beria, “But all my experience tells me that he is fighting not for the Soviet Union, not for comrade Stalin, not even for Russia. Nagulin is pursuing some goals that only he knows, and for him we are all just a means to achieve them.”

“Aren't you being too hard on him, Lavrentiy Pavlovich?” cautiously objected Sudoplatov, but it was obvious that the words of the Commissar of Internal Affairs made him think, “His contribution to the struggle with the enemy…”

“I know,” Beria stopped his subordinate, “if it weren't for that, he would have been felling wood somewhere beyond the Urals a long time ago, or given a capital punishment – he had behaved very un-Soviet all this time. Given his merits, Nagulin is sitting in quite decent solitary confinement in Lubyanka, and investigators are strictly ordered not to use any coercion on him.”

“So what's next?”

“And that will depend on what happens in the next few days. No matter how you look at it, your Nagulin has killed five heavy long-range bombers, and the result of their actions is not yet quite clear. It's such a mess right now…”

“But the corridor to the surrounded troups was cut through!”

“And what grounds do I have to believe that it was due to Nagulin's actions? This corridor was being cut through by ground troops, and they did cut it. But where did the German night fighters, which were also equipped with the latest radar and night sights, come from? Are you silent, Pavel Anatolievich? And I'll answer. The Germans knew about Nagulin's operation and were preparing an ambush, which cost us great losses in the end. There are only two options here – criminal error or betrayal. And I still have to report to Comrade Stalin about it – long-range aircraft, by the way, were allocated to us under my personal responsibility.”

“Nagulin shot down three fighters himself,” Sudoplatov did not give up; he had the arrest of his subordinate stuck in his throat, but he carried out the order without hesitation.

“I know. Our agents were part of the TB-7 crews, and I received detailed information about the operation while the bombers were still in the air. That's why I gave you the order to arrest Nagulin on a formal, but quite weighty reason. Understand, Pavel Anatolyevich, we do not know the limit of his capabilities.

In this night battle, he again demonstrated abilities that an ordinary man cannot possess. He, unlike the Germans, had no radar, and he tracked enemy fighters as if he had been directed to them by radio, and even in the daytime when the weather was clear! Do you understand what this means? No amount of calculating, analyzing, and forecasting skills would help here. He just knew where the German planes were! He knew it, that's all! That means he's hiding some of his capabilities from us. And why should he hide them if he is not an enemy?”


* * *

“In other circumstances, I might have congratulated you, Colonel. You made a brilliant analysis of the situation and accurately predicted the Russians' plans.”

“Thank you, Herr General,” Richtengden replied in a steady voice, “Unfortunately, the correct prediction of the actions of the Russian marksman was not enough to win. This is somewhat at variance with the tone of the official reports, but I cannot call what happened near Kiev anything other than a catastrophe.”

“I would not be so categorical,” the General grimaced irritably. “Let's just say it could have been much worse, and the fact that just about half of the encircled enemy troops broke through, is to a large extent you merit. The night fighter attack failed to completely thwart the Russian plans, but it prevented the destruction of dozens of our headquarters and communications centers and allowed the surviving generals to restore control of the troops relatively quickly.”

“Surviving generals…” Richtengden repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. “We lost top officers who had gone through Poland and France, defeated the British, surrounded and captured hundreds of thousands of Russians. The catastrophe is just that, Herr General, not the fact that a crowd of demoralized Russians, who had abandoned all their equipment and artillery, broke out of the pocket.”

“Five Russian bombers were shot down,” the General, not wanting to continue the unpleasant discussion, changed the subject, “Our troops captured eight crew members of these planes. We weren't able to get all of them to talk, but we did get some things cleared up. You were right again. The Russian marksman was on board one of the bombers, the only Pe-2 the enemy had engaged in this operation. Initially it was not supposed to take part in bombing attacks and in combat operations in general, but after the appearance of our Dorniers, it took on the role of a night fighter, which was a very unpleasant surprise to our pilots.”

“I am aware of our losses, Herr General,” Richtengden nodded.

“The losses were not in vain, Colonel. Enemy pilots who were shot down gave detailed accounts of how the Russian spotter directed the actions of the bombers. Frankly speaking, it reeks of mysticism and makes me want to ask Reichsführer SS Himmler for permission to ask for help from his "Ahnenerbe",” – the General grinned faintly. “Neither the Pe-2 nor the heavy bombers had anything resembling radar, but all the captured pilots had the impression that they were guided to their targets by some incredibly accurate device that "saw" not only enemy planes but also recognized targets on the ground.”

“I don't think such a device exists,” Richtengden shook his head.

“Neither do I,” the General agreed, “or rather, it exists, but in a single copy. I am convinced that the Russian marksman is this device himself.”

“If this is true, and I am inclined to agree with your conclusion, it is not quite clear what we should do next. In this state of affairs, we can expect crushing nighttime strikes anywhere on the front and even in our rear. Herr General, do you have a good idea of the consequences of a direct hit by a two-ton bomb from a Russian TB-7 into one of our strategic facilities? And this plane is capable of carrying two of them…”

“There is one clue, Colonel. I told you that the human intelligence was given the task of establishing the identity and whereabouts of the Russian marksman. I did not believe in a quick result, but sometimes there are pleasant surprises.”

Richtengden said nothing, but leaned forward a little, listening intently to the General.

“It was an accident, of course, but it was good because it played in our favor. In the maintenance crew at the airfield, where the Pe-2 with the Russian marksman flew out, there was our agent. He was a small fry, in general, but with brains and imagination, though these details are not important. The main thing is that he managed to overhear a conversation between the marksman and a certain senior major of the NKVD, apparently his direct superior, and the conversation was extremely important. The marksman reported the mission and the loss of five bombers, after which the Senior Major arrested him. It's an odd decision, given the apparent success of the marksman's actions, but it's only to our advantage. In addition, we now know the name and rank of our figure – Senior Lieutenant of State Security Nagulin. According to circumstantial evidence gathered by the same agent, the arrested marksman was sent by plane to Moscow.

We have an agent at Lubyanka, but this is a very valuable person – a deep introduction of the early thirties. His position is not the highest one. Nevertheless, he has access to serious documents and will be able to get information about Nagulin. Naturally, we try to engage such a specialist only in exceptional cases, but this is precisely the case.

The Führer is furious. He declared the Russian gunner his personal enemy, summoned Herr Admiral to see him, and the Admiral, apparently, heard from the Führer not the most pleasant words about our service. Anyway, we now have a sanction for the "Guest" agent to get involved, and he's already been tasked, and very firmly. Nagulin must be eliminated. "Guest" has been given the contacts of several "sleeping" agents in Moscow. He must assemble a group of them and frame the marksman for their attack. If that doesn't work, he'll have to eliminate Nagulin personally.”

“And what is my role here, Herr General? You are not telling me all this for nothing.”

“The marksman won't be in custody for long. Russians, of course, are very fond of accusing their own comrades of espionage and treason for any reason, but not to this extent! Nagulin is valuable to them, and has done too much for the USSR to just kill him like that. Anyway, "Guest" may not make it, and then the marksman will reappear at the front, and I want us to be ready for that. Think, Colonel. Think and prepare. You have correctly predicted the enemy's actions more than once, and now I expect an equally accurate prediction from you.”


* * *

All of a sudden I had a lot of free time. On the first day, the investigators were still somewhat active, they called me in for interrogations, where I answered their questions in detail about the course of the operation, the purpose of the bombing attacks, and the circumstances of my loss of five planes.

I came across a variety of investigators, and although I behaved in an emphatically correct manner and answered all questions as fully as possible, some of them clearly wanted to beat me in order to stimulate the process of a confession. Nevertheless, no one laid a finger on me. Not only that, when asking me all sorts of bad questions, the NKVD officers did not even try to raise their voice, This, apparently, cost them a lot of effort, so on the second day I was left alone – the interrogations stopped.

Sudoplatov never showed up again. I never understood whether he made the decision to arrest me himself, or whether he received an order from above. However, it was not too important now – even if the initiative came from the Senior Major, it was clearly approved at the top.

I spent some time observing the consequences of my nocturnal actions. The bombing strikes we carried out disorganized the control system of German troops near Kiev for a time. It was enough to allow the tank brigades attached to the 40th and 21st Armies to break through to the encircled troops, and the infantry, which had come up, could fortify the walls of the narrow corridor, along which the remnants of the 5th, 37th and 26th Armies, completely exhausted, immediately began to move out of the pocket.

Unfortunately, not everyone was able to leave. Units of the Red Army, which were in a small pocket near Lokhvitsa, were able to break through to the main forces of the encircled troops, but the Germans quickly closed the gap and no one could help the cut-off troops – they simply had no strength. The main pocket could not be evacuated completely either. Someone had to stay behind to cover the retreat, and the enemy, after the bombardments ceased, was getting faster and faster at fixing the lines of communication and restoring the chain of command.

The corridor lasted only 24 hours, but it was enough to get about 100,000 people out of the pocket. These troops, unfortunately, were completely unfit for duty. They had to be taken urgently to the rear to be re-formed, so they could do almost nothing to help the 40th and 21st Armies, which had suffered losses. The Germans, enraged by the slap they received, launched a counterstrike and severely displaced our forces on the outer edge of the encirclement, finally deciding the fate of almost 100,000 Red Army soldiers and commanders who had not had time to leave the Kiev pocket.

After thinking about the situation for a while, I decided to do nothing. They were clearly not going to shoot me immediately, and I never heard any accusations of treason, although there were hints of it in the words of the investigators, but who cares about hints in a case like this? Anyway, I decided to use the time I had gained to think about my future plans, in case I did get out of here.

Back when I was running with Ignatov through the woods and fields near Uman, I decided that this world needed Space. That's right, with a capital letter. It is the only way I know of, if not to prevent, at least to delay the death of the local civilization, to turn it away from the path of self-destruction that dozens of other worlds, including, unfortunately, my Sixth Republic, have passed before it.

Now, of course, it's too early to talk about it. People on Earth have found a fascinating thing to do – World War II, but it is always war that gives a powerful boost to technology, and it would be absurd to miss such an opportunity.

Can I push the development of the very field of science and engineering that will take people into space in the future? I think so. Of course, we are not talking about any direct transfer of alien miracle devices, but I have other options. In some foreseeable future, I will undoubtedly be harnessing the high-tech materials and products at my disposal, to provide a powerful scientific breakthrough, but I will do so no sooner than I am confident that I am in complete control of the situation. Neither Comrade Stalin nor Roosevelt and Churchill will receive any extraterrestrial artifacts, at least as long as they are the ones in charge of the relevant parts of the planet.

Nevertheless, I will help the Soviet Union. I originally chose this country as having the largest territory on Earth, as well as the richest natural and human resources. In addition, the USSR was able to rise to a level of industrialization that is quite decent by local standards. It was not ruled by an amorphous democratic mechanism, but by a totalitarian regime, which was not very efficient economically, but it was fine-tuned. Now, however, another important factor has been added to all of these considerations: people. Not human resources, but living people, with whom I went into battle, defending their homeland and gradually beginning to treat it as my own.

Okay, let's skip the lyricism. So, what does mankind need at this stage to get closer to reaching outer space? The answer is obvious – everything related to jet propulsion and rocket technology. Ideally, I should have consulted the historical experience of my Sixth Republic, but the computers of the escape pod and the satellites had no information on that period of technological development, and I've never been interested in pre-space-age weapons and technology, so I'll have to use local knowledge.

Let's go. What do we have here and now? I opened the search interface and dug into the Satellite Network databases. The country sampling showed me a widespread and comprehensive primitivity in the field I was looking for, which, however, was quite normal for this level of development.

The USSR, unfortunately, was far from being at the forefront of rocket science, although there was some progress here as well. It is worth remembering, for example, the BM-13 division, which dropped rockets on the German motorized battalion and thus saved my platoon near Uman. But that's not all. The Soviet Union was also working on turbojet engines, but with the outbreak of war all this work was curtailed. True, back in 1933, just the year Hitler came to power, the Reactive Scientific Research Institute was founded in Moscow by order of the Revolutionary Military Council, which was renamed NII-3 in 1937.

This institution brought together a variety of people, but undoubted talents were found among them. The institute was engaged in the creation of solid and liquid fuel engines and rockets, and, of course, primarily developed for the army. In addition to the aforementioned rockets, the third department of the Institute dealt with cruise missiles.

From this point on, I became noticeably more interested. The first flight of the 212 missile took place in early 1939, and a month and a half later the tests were repeated. Surprisingly, the cruise missile even had its own control unit based on a gyroscopic automatic stabilizer, and it had a range of 80 kilometers. The missile could deliver a warhead weighing up to 30 kilograms to that distance. It is not much, and the accuracy, despite the gyroscopes, left much to be desired, but the development was certainly promising, and I was surprised that the research stopped there.

The reason came out pretty quickly. The chief designer of the 212 missile Sergei Pavlovich Korolev was arrested in the summer of 1938, as well as many other employees of NII-3. The missile was brought to testing without him, and then, apparently, the old developments had run out, the team, considerably thinned, was unable to move forward without Korolev's ideas.

The designer was accused of sabotage and participation in a Trotskyist organization. His colleagues from the institute became, as usual, witnesses and denunciators. Korolev went through Butyr prison in Moscow, a transit point in Novocherkassk, and in April 1939, just a month and a half after the second test flight of the cruise missile he developed, the designer found himself at the Kolyma gold mine in Maldyak.

After numerous misadventures and a serious illness, Korolev was transported back to Moscow, where his case was reviewed. A new trial was held in 1940. The designer was sentenced to eight years in prison and placed in the NKVD special prison, where Korolev, along with another prisoner, Andrei Nikolaevich Tupolev, worked on the development of the Tu-2 and Pe-2, the same plane in which I conducted aerial reconnaissance and bomber escorts.

I took note of this story and decided to come back to it later. Cruise missiles, of course, are a very serious thing, but no one would let me in on such developments – I was not yet good enough. First I had to prove my competence on something simpler and yet in demand at the moment.

The next object of my interest was Germany. Here the developments were noticeably brisker. Back in the early summer of 1939 the Heinkel He-176 jet made its maiden flight, and just a month earlier, on September 1, 1941, the Messerschmitt Me-163 rocket-powered interceptor aircraft made its first flight. The flying characteristics of these machines, to put it bluntly, were not too impressive. What can you do in eight minutes in the air? And there was simply not enough fuel for more. But right now at the plants of Messerschmitt, a prototype of the experimental fighter Me-262 with two BMW-003 turbojet engines was being prepared for testing. The Germans were still a long way from series production, but in a year or so they could expect to get a very serious aircraft capable of raising a lot of unpleasant questions for the Reich's enemies.

This is very promising, but again, too complicated to begin with. Let's keep looking. In addition to airplanes the Germans did not forget about jet projectiles. They developed their six-barreled Nebelwerfer back in the early thirties. It was originally designed to fire smoke and chemical shells, but in the realities of World War II only high-explosive shells were used. Structurally, the German projectiles differed in the way they stabilized in flight, but the Germans did not invent anything particularly breakthrough for this era, and their system was generally inferior to the Russian Katyusha rocket launcher, even though it had a higher shot grouping. For me, the Nebelwerfer is obviously useless. Let's put it aside.

Okay, now the proud British. What are they doing in the jet field? Here we go again with airplanes. The first flight of the Gloster Meteor Mk.1 took place in May 1941. The British have a turbojet engine, but the islanders are clearly far behind the Germans, although in general they follow the same path. Not interesting. Do they have rocket artillery? They have no analogues of Katyushas and Nebelwerfers… О! Anti-aircraft rockets! Unfortunately, they're unguided and outrageously primitive – only suitable for barrage fire. All in all, garbage.

Strange as it may seem, the original development in the field of jet aviation was even found in Italy. Their Caproni Campini N.1, with a strange hybrid of piston and jet engines, even managed to make a successful flight, but this design did not evoke in me anything but a sad smile, and it was even more useless to me than the British anti-aircraft missiles.

Okay, let's leave Europe behind. What's going on overseas? The U.S. Air Force was not interested in jets. In 1939, Lockheed tried to apply to them for funding for research in this area, but was refused. That is where it all came to a standstill. Now, however, the U.S. military seems to be changing their mind, but so far nothing worthwhile has been done. Rocket artillery is also in its infancy, although there is some potential… So, what is this? No one else currently has one of these! The M1 anti-tank grenade launcher, aka bazooka. Shaped grenade with rocket motor, caliber 60 millimeters, effective range 130 meters. The design… Yeah. But it could have been worse. In this form, of course, it would not be suitable for the Red Army and Soviet industry, but that's why I have computers…

My musings were interrupted by the clang of the deadbolt and the creak of the door opening.

“Arrested Nagulin, out!”


* * *

“How is the Nagulin investigation going?” Beria looked tired.

“The testimony was taken from him by four investigators,” Sudoplatov answered clearly. “The questions were formulated in such a way that it was not clear what it was that interested us most. Nagulin gave detailed answers. Immediately after Nagulin's interrogations were completed, we began working with the pilots and navigators of the surviving bombers, as well as with those who survived from the crews of the downed planes. Now their questioning has been completed. We are conducting a detailed analysis. At first glance, Nagulin's testimony does not contradict their words.”

“Are there any preliminary conclusions?”

“That's right,” nodded Sudoplatov, “Nagulin maintains that he did not know about the German night fighters, and began responding to their appearance only after radio reports of an attack on the bombers.”

“How did he find and shoot down the Germans?” Beria squinted slightly under the pince-nez.

“He claims that he flew into the area of enemy fighters, guided by the known current position of the attacked TB-7s and Yer-2s. Well, then his phenomenal night vision came into effect, the exceptional capabilities of which have been confirmed by our physicians. But even these possibilities are not unlimited. That's the reason he couldn't shoot down all the Dorniers. He just couldn't find two of them.”

“How did the Germans know about the operation?”

“Nagulin does not have a definite answer to this question, except for his assurance that he did not inform any outsider about the upcoming flight. Nevertheless, he suggested that the Germans themselves might have come to the conclusion that we could use night bombers near Kiev, because we had demonstrated something similar to them once before during the evacuation of Captain Shcheglov's group.”

Beria stood up in silence and walked around the office.

“Three hours ago I was with the Commander-in-Chief,” said the Commissar softly. “I reported on the operation and the losses.”

At the mention of Stalin Sudoplatov also rose and turned to Beria waiting to continue, but the Commissar remained silent, and Pavel Anatolievich dared to ask the question that had interested him.

“Did you also report Nagulin's arrest, comrade…”

“Not yet,” Beria interrupted him. “And apparently I won't have to.”

“Has something happened?”

Beria silently went to his desk and took from it a sheet of paper with the text printed on it.

“Read this, Pavel Anatolyevich. It came this afternoon through diplomatic channels.”

Sudoplatov read the typewritten text carefully for about a minute, then looked up at Beria in surprise. “Lavrentiy Pavlovich, is this information verified?”

“By now it has been confirmed by other sources.”

“But this is…”

“Yes. You understand correctly. Comrade Stalin personally congratulated me on the success of the operation and asked me to see to it that all its participants be presented with state awards. Six German generals died under the bombs of Nagulin's air group, Colonel General Guderian, the founding father of the German armored forces and the symbol of the lightning war strategy, was among them.”

“Nagulin liquidated the "fast-moving Heinz"?” asked again Sudoplatov, still not fully believing what he had heard.

“That's right, Pavel Anatolyevich, that's right.”

“And now what?”

“Take your subordinate away from the investigators,” Beria shrugged. “Terminate the case for lack of corpus delicti.”




Chapter 5


“Do you also draw?” Lena's right eyebrow went up when she saw me, pencil and ruler in hand, concentrating on drawing something on a piece of paper.

I put my pencil and ruler aside and looked at my girlfriend, who had just woken up. Sudoplatov gave me two days leave, which surprisingly coincided with the leave granted to Sergeant Serova for her success in combat and political training. I, however, was forbidden to go outside the guarded perimeter, and upon learning of this, Lena also preferred to stay confined to barracks, in my room.

“It's not a drawing,” I smiled, looking at her surprise, “An idea came up, and I'm trying to make a draft. To be honest, I've never done this before, so it's hard to do. Here, I found a drafting guide in the library. I have to learn it as I go along.”

“And what is that?” Lena looked a little disappointed, and I smiled again, but this time to myself.

“It's just a rough draft so far,” I answered evasively, “When I do, I'll show you. Let me draw your portrait instead.”

“Can you do it?” My girlfriend looked at me with mild disbelief.

“I used to draw pretty good when I was a kid,” I shrugged.

“Well, try it. Just wait, I'm going to get cleaned up.”

This process was not quick and required Lena to visit her room, so I had almost 40 more minutes, which I used to wrestle with a pencil and a piece of paper. Good thing I had the help of the computer and implants, otherwise it would have taken much longer to make the sketches.

I really liked the idea of American engineers. They were the first to think of combining the shaped charge projectile, recoilless rifle, and rocket motor in a single product, and to make it compact and suitable for use in combat by one man.

The other thing is that, in my opinion, they overdid it with the complexity of the design. The electrical system for igniting the grenade's propellant charge, including dry batteries, a signal light, and electrical wiring, was completely unnecessary in this weapon. Maybe the Americans could afford it, but I needed a really mass-produced infantry anti-tank weapon, which meant that it had to be as simple as a felt boot, and very cheap to produce, but still effective enough in combat.

Another drawback of the American design that immediately caught my eye was the completely inadequate caliber of the grenade. What is 60 millimeters? Such a thing would penetrate the frontal armor of local tanks only in conditions close to ideal, and that's hardly ever seen in combat.

Anyway, I fed the initial data to the computer and made it optimize the American design. I had to do a lot of work. Artificial intelligence is not a human. One can't explain such a task to it with one's fingers. I had to come up with everything that required at least some creativity on my own and formalize my ideas in the form of concrete algorithms, while the computer had to choose the best dimensions and the best construction materials.

First of all, I removed all electrical components from the product – the grenade launcher can do just fine with the classic firing mechanism with a fuse. The second question was the caliber. I didn't want to increase the diameter of the launch tube, and I didn't need to – shells with driving rods have been known since the Russo-Japanese War, so increasing the diameter of the grenade to 100 millimeters was easy enough. But I left the calculations of the angle of the conical hollow, the thickness of its walls and other design parameters to the computer – it will do it much better than me. This also applied to the composition of the explosive, which would be used to calculate the design of the grenade. With the help of various non-obvious additives, the charge must be made unique and hard to reproduce, so that in the case of a simple copying of the grenade launcher by the enemy its characteristics would be significantly degraded.




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notes


Примечания





1


Ludwig Becker (22 August 1911 – 26 February 1943). One of the best night fighter pilots of the Luftwaffe, he developed tactics to counteract night raids on Germany by British bombers. He participated in tests of the first radars, won the first victory using "dark interception" (using radar). Becker destroyed about 30 enemy bombers. Becker died because of a mistake by his commanders, who decided to engage night fighters to repel daytime attacks by American bombers. On February 26, 1943, 12 night fighters attacked a group of B-24 Liberator heavy bombers over Helgoland Bay. The only German fighter shot down in that battle was the plane of the commander, Hauptmann Becker. The Americans lost seven bombers. Later on, the Luftwaffe night fighters suffered significant losses because the erroneous order to use them in the daytime was never rescinded.



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