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“Commander, can you hear me?!” it's Kudryavtsev. “Get out of the fight! You can't fight in this damaged plane! They'll meet you on shore. Lebedev and his men are already in the air. Stay out of this fight!”
“Lieutenant, you're only preventing your pilots from fighting!” Letra throws in a new argument, “They are covering your plane and are forced to fight at low speeds. Fly to the shore!”
Yes, this is serious. Letra is undoubtedly right, and so is Kudryavtsev, and I'm not thinking clearly right now, and I'm acting on reflexes. What did my girl-friend say about the right engine? Perhaps it's about time. My IL twitches and spits out a long and uneven stream of fire from the nozzle of the damaged engine, but I am noticeably pressed into the seat. The air roars into the hole in the glazing. Good thing the shrapnel didn't hit the front of the cockpit.
I'm heading toward shore with a descent, breaking out of the "dogfight." A Japanese Falcon is coming after me, but one of ours immediately cuts it down with a burst of his cannon. I see an IL burning ahead-right. Its engine, engulfed in flames, is enveloped in smoke and steam – the automatic fire suppression system is triggered, but the damage is too extensive. The airplane's wing bends at an unnatural angle and fractures, and the plane plummets into a disorderly fall.
All this I note only at the edge of my consciousness. I'm still very sick, and I can hardly keep my focus on the shoreline, which is doubling and bouncing from side to side. My plane keeps accelerating. Letra is muttering something in my head, and somewhere in the background I hear Kudryavtsev's foul language, and I squeeze the control column and try not to pay attention to the fact that the plane begins to shake and rock more and more.
A sharp pain pierces my neck. It seems that Letra used a last resort, causing the implant to deliver a shock discharge. This brings me to my senses a little and Kudryavtsev's scream bursts into my ears:
“Commander, you're on fire! Jump immediately!”
The right wing is engulfed in flames. The plane vibrates as if struck by dozens of heavy hammers, but the hills, sparsely forested, are already glimpsed below. I fumble for the catapult lever and pull it sharply toward me. The cockpit hood flies up and backwards with a pop, and the mighty kick of the gunpowder charge throws me out of the dying plane along with the seat. It's a good thing I insisted on equipping the new ILs with this device, made for us in the U.S. – I certainly wouldn't have made it on my own.
The canopy of the parachute opens overhead with a pop. Another jerk sends me back into unconsciousness, but it does not last long. Letra makes me come to my senses again in the same disastrous way. A Japanese Zero emerges from somewhere on the side, and begins to turn in my direction. Apparently, these are the last seconds of my life. It seems, I'm finishing badly, and it's a shame, it was going so well.
Why is Letra silent? She probably has nothing to say to me – there's nothing one can do in this situation anyway. A few seconds more and I'll be in the sights of the Japanese pilot… I want to close my eyes, but I force myself to look at the approaching death. The rumble of air cannons bursts into my ears, but for some reason I don't see any flashes. Perhaps my vision is failing me, or I'm just already dead and it's a quirk of my fading consciousness… Several tracer streaks of cannon shells are crossed over the Japanese fighter that is about to attack me. The Zero is literally torn apart. It does not even burst into flames, but rushes to the ground as a pile of shapeless debris. Right above my head, three ILs roar through the air. It seems that a few more lines have been added to my list of debts in this world.
The ground hits my feet. I don't feel pain, it's too weak compared to my head, which feels like it's splitting apart. I look around and sluggishly collapse the parachute. There is no wind. At least I was lucky on this, otherwise I would have had problems landing. The air battle is still raging overhead, but its intensity is clearly diminishing.
I unbuckle the cords and try to get to my feet.
“Lieutenant, you're almost done,” Letra's voice cuts through my head again. “There's not much left. You need to take cover under the trees. Do you see a small grove right in front of you? It's relatively safe there. It's only eighty meters downhill. Come on, you can do it.”
I can't get up, but I can crawl. It's a good thing it's downhill. Everything floats before my eyes. My knees and elbows rake the dry earth, dust and some dry plant chaff are stuffed into my mouth and nose. How long have I been crawling? Five minutes? Ten? It gets noticeably darker around me, and after a few meters I stop, trying to understand what happened.
“All right, Irs, you're here,” Letra's voice sounded distinctly relieved, “The plane with Colonel Lebedev's group is on its way. You can safely pass out.”
I groan and roll over onto my back and close my eyes. The world around me fades away.
Chapter 4
The phone call interrupted Colonel Schliemann who was writing another analytical report, which was suddenly required by the General Staff of the Ground Forces.
“Erich, I need you,” the concentrated voice of Major General Richtengden sounded in the receiver. “Right now.”
“Heinrich, I would need another half hour, I'm almost finished with this reference,” Schliemann asked, brazenly taking advantage of his friendship with his boss.
“You'll finish it later,” Richtengden said. “I'll wait for you downstairs, on the floor minus two, in my back-up office.”
“I'm on my way.”
Schliemann didn't ask any more questions. Floor minus two, that’s serious. There used to be a bomb shelter there, and, in principle, the underground floor still served the same function, but after the liquidation of Hitler, Richtengden, given a new position, equipped a separate office there, which was protected by all possible means against all methods of wiretapping and eavesdropping known at the time. Schliemann did not know all the details, but it seemed that his childhood friend tried to protect himself not only from existing, but also from prospective means of technical intelligence. And this is here in the center of Berlin, behind several security perimeters! A year ago, Schliemann would have considered such actions a waste of resources, but much has changed since then, and now he regarded Richtengden's innovation with complete understanding.
General Richtengden silently pointed Schliemann to a comfortable chair by the wall, came out from behind the table and sat down in a similar chair opposite. They were separated only by a coffee table with a carafe of water and a couple of glasses.
“Something has happened, Erich,” Richtengden said softly as Schliemann settled in his chair and stopped his expectant gaze on him.
“I already figured that out,” Schliemann grinned, “Don't drag it out, even bad news is better than the unknown.”
“I wouldn't call it bad news, but it changes a lot of things. Well, I will not get ahead of myself and start at the beginning. Admiral Canaris came here today.”
“Even so? He didn't summon you to his place, but came himself?” Schliemann slightly arched his eyebrow.
“He knows about this place, and he seems now to be finally convinced that I didn't invest so many reichsmarks in equipping this office for nothing. So he had to come here.”
“Is it something to do with Nagulin again?”
“Yes and no,” Richtengden shook his head vaguely. “The Admiral received very important information, and he received it personally. That's what made him come to me. The way in which the information was transmitted was quite unusual. Canaris was contacted using his home radio. Communication, of course, was one-way, but the invisible interlocutor knew perfectly well what questions the Admiral might have. After this contact, Canaris immediately requested a report from the direction finding service. You know that in Berlin no radio can go on the air, without being instantly detected.”
“And, of course, they didn't hear anything,” Schliemann said affirmatively rather than questioningly.
“Absolutely. None of the direction finders picked up extraneous radio transmitters.”
“Can I get to know what the Admiral has been informed?
“You can. I've been assigned this case, so you're going to be a part of it, too. Canaris was explained in a very detailed and reasoned manner, that the Enigma encryption machine is not at all as good as we imagined it to be, and that the British have been reading our headquarters' correspondence like an open book for a long time. The Luftwaffe, the Kriegsmarine, the Ground Forces – all the most important things they transmit on the radio are laid on Churchill's desk in decoded form, and it's been on his desk for months.”
“The source did not give his name?”
“No. He said only that he was a German patriot and a couple of other unimportant phrases in the same vein.”
“Is this a provocation?”
“It doesn't look like it. The information is already being verified, but the Admiral has no doubts about its truthfulness. His interlocutor was very convincing.”
“That is, someone unknown simply leaked reliable information of great importance to the Abwehr, and at the same time it is completely unclear, how he got it and for what purpose he passed it on to us. Did I leave anything out?”
“You got it right. Now let me ask you a question. Erich, does this remind you of anything? Who else among the players we know can just as easily obtain any information he needs, regardless of the level of secrecy, and immediately use it for his own purposes?”
“Well, not just any information…”
“Are you sure? However, you are right. We were able to hide something, which is why I'm hoping for this office.”
“The Russian marksman? But why would he help us? He's supposed to be our enemy. Wait a minute, though…” Schliemann leaned forward sharply and gazed into Richtengden's eyes.
“I see that you and I have come to similar conclusions,” the General grinned wearily. “Who told us that the Russian marksman is unique? There could be several like him, and perhaps one of them decided to play on our side. It would be good for us to understand why he needs to do that…”
* * *
“Mr. President, you instructed me to take personal control of General Nagulin's activities in China and report to you immediately of any news related to him.”
“Yes, Harry, I remember my request,” Roosevelt nodded and tore his gaze away from another ministerial report.
“Four hours ago the radio interception stations "Cast" and "Haipo" recorded an intense exchange of messages between the General Headquarters of the Japanese Navy in Tokyo and their base in Taiwan. Within two hours the intensity of the radio exchange was increasing and it successively included the enemy air bases in Hong Kong, Shanghai and northern Indochina. Decoding the messages took some time, but the result was worth it. A group of fighter-bombers bearing the identifying insignia of the Republic of China invaded Japanese-controlled space, from the Chinese coast. They made a diversionary maneuver, simulating a night raid on Taiwan, and then circled around the island and caught up with the heavy aircraft carrier Zuikaku, accompanied by two destroyers, at sea. Their attack resulted in the sinking of the Zuikaku and one of the destroyers.”
“I was expecting something like that,” Roosevelt grinned. “It seemed to me from the beginning that Nagulin would not be willing to indulge in petty local operations, but decided to show us right away that we took his promises seriously for a reason. But a heavy aircraft carrier… Perhaps this young general once again managed to surprise me.”
“Unfortunately, it didn't go as smoothly as we would have liked,” Hopkins replied without a smile. “The Japanese knew of the impending attack, and the aircraft carrier managed to raise its fighters and the destroyers opened barrage fire on the approaching Soviet planes. The Russians suffered casualties. There is no exact information about the number of downed machines.”
“Did General Nagulin take part in the attack?”
“According to the information received by our military advisors from the Chinese allies, Nagulin led the strike group that attacked the Zuikaku.”
“Has he survived?”
“His fate is not entirely clear. It is known that Nagulin did not die in the battle with the Japanese ships, but all further orders came not from him, but from General Kudryavtsev, who also took part in the attack on the aircraft carrier. After the destruction of the Zuikaku, the Russians' problems did not end. The Japanese somehow became aware of their escape route. The group included damaged planes that could not maintain high speed, and over the coast they were intercepted by enemy fighters, but the reinforcements called by Kudryavtsev managed to reach the Russians. More than 200 Japanese planes were involved in the air battle against about 60 Soviet twin-engine fighter-bombers.”
“It's not a good balance of power,” Roosevelt said softly.
“No doubt. But I can't say that the Russians were defeated in this battle. Both sides suffered heavy losses, but the Japanese had to retreat. Now the Soviet pilots are returning to their airfield. Nagulin is not among them. Our advisor to Chiang Kai-shek's headquarters tried to find out the details, but the Generalissimo was in no hurry to share information, or perhaps he did not have all of it himself. All we know is that the Chinese sent a special group to the site of the air battle, made up of the best graduates of the "Wampu" military school, with the task of rescuing and evacuating the surviving crew members of the downed Russian planes. The Russians also sent their own group. The Chinese personnel at the airfield near Chongqing, where the Soviet air regiment was stationed, turned out to be quite talkative. They saw a group of heavily armed paratroopers loading into a transport plane that flew out right after the fighters, sent to the aid of Nagulin's air group.”
“So,” Roosevelt stood up with a visible effort and took a few steps around the office. It struck Hopkins that the President's movements had become noticeably more confident since their last meeting. “What do we have in the end? The Russians sank the heavy aircraft carrier Zuikaku, taking casualties and getting into serious withdrawal trouble. In the air battle that followed, they shot down an unknown but apparently very significant number of Japanese aircraft, forcing the enemy's surviving machines to flee the battlefield. As a result of all these events, an unknown number of Russian pilots found themselves in territory loosely controlled by the Chinese, and with a high probability they include General Nagulin, allegedly wounded in the battle with an unclear degree of severity. Chiang Kai-shek immediately took action, to help the Russian pilots by sending his best men to the coast, while we remain on the sidelines. Is this normal?”
“We don't have any formal obligations in this case,” Hopkins' voice didn't sound confident, “but the Russians have acted in our interests, fulfilling and, perhaps, even exceeding the verbal promises made to us…”
“That's my point,” Roosevelt grinned. “ Chiang Kai-shek immediately appreciated the potential of Russian technology and clearly wants to show Stalin that China can become a reliable ally. I don't think we should let the Chinese get ahead in this matter. Besides, we have absolutely no interest in the death of General Nagulin. Zuikaku was just the beginning, but if we don't get Nagulin out of there, that will be the end of it – I'm pretty sure that the entire Chinese mission of the Soviets rests on him.”
“It's hard to argue with that.”
“Harry, what do we have in this region? I'm not talking about General Stillwell's Chinese divisions right now.”
“Only aviation, and not the most modern.”
“The Flying Tigers?”
“Yes. Clare Chennault’s's air group in Kunming. That's about sixty P-40 Warhawk fighters. Until recently they were mainly engaged in covering the Burma Road and Rangoon. This is all we can quickly use to help the Russians evacuate their pilots from coastal southeastern China.”
“Harry, I need the Tigers to get their orders today, and as soon as possible – every hour counts.”
* * *
I came to my senses from the annoying itching of the implant behind my ear. My head continued to hurt, but it wasn't the same pain that made me pass out. I was lying on a stretcher, swinging gently – I was being carried somewhere, obviously over rough terrain. Judging from the fact that Letra hadn't pulled me out of oblivion earlier, there was nothing threatening me right now. Nevertheless, I was in no hurry to open my eyes right away.
Realizing that I had come to my senses, Letra immediately informed me, “Colonel Lebedev's men found you and five other pilots. There is absolutely no place to land a plane, and the nearest Chinese units are almost forty kilometers away, but these are not the biggest problems. There are three large enemy reconnaissance and sabotage units on the coast. Apparently, the Imperial Navy is preparing another landing, and they've been sent here to find out what's going on. The Japanese have contact with their commanders. Two hours ago they got orders to check the area around the recently ended air battle, and then there were several more communications that I couldn't intercept… Anyway, there's a hunt for you, and if you do nothing, in about twenty minutes your squadron will be ambushed.”
Without opening my eyes, I unfolded the virtual map. Colonel Lebedev's detachment moved among fairly high hills covered with dense southern forest. Sometimes there were terraces of fields right on the steep slopes, but they looked abandoned – the Chinese peasants did not seem to see the point of farming in areas that the Japanese could seize at any moment. We didn't meet any locals themselves either. Rumors of how the Japanese occupiers were treating the population spread quickly, and anyone who could go inland left their homes and became refugees.
Our unit certainly could not be called a walking hospital, but the three wounded, including me, greatly reduced its mobility. I was carried by Ignatov and Nikiforov. The two pilots found by Lebedev's men carried another stretcher. The third wounded man was carried by another pilot, along with the radio operator, who had been relieved of carrying the radio for the occasion.
In the maze of these high hills, the detachment had to move mostly through the winding lowlands, as it was extremely difficult to constantly climb up and down the slopes with the wounded in their arms. Colonel Lebedev had difficulty navigating these places, and if it had not been for the Chinese guide, he would have been able to keep the right direction only by compass. But the Japanese felt much more confident here. Two squads of thirty men each were moving five or six kilometers behind us, surrounding Lebedev's group from left and right, and there was really an ambush ahead of us.
I opened my eyes and met Lena's gaze. She walked beside my stretcher, remembering to look carefully over the lush green slopes for signs of danger in the jumble of branches and leaves of the subtropical forest.
“There's no one there, I would feel it,” I cautiously tried to smile, and I even succeeded. My head didn't respond to my words with a flash of pain, though I didn't hold out much hope for that.
“How are you feeling?” Lena abruptly stepped toward me and leaned over the stretcher.
Ignatov and Nikiforov stopped and a soft report flew down the chain of fighters forward to where Colonel Lebedev was walking: “The Commander’s come to his senses.”
How about that! Lebedev is the commander here, and it wouldn't even occur to me to challenge that.
“Better now,” I took my wife's hand and slightly lifted myself up on the stretcher. My body didn't protest. Even the headache receded a little more, but the head wound under the tight bandage began to itch wildly.
The soldiers gently lowered the stretcher onto the grass. I slowly raised my hand and groped my head. I could feel the big bump even through the bandage, but the shrapnel didn't seem to have broken through the bone. They make tough skulls in the Sixth Republic.
“Comrade Colonel General…” It was Lebedev, who appeared next to us silently as usual.
“Thank you for getting me out of there,” I glanced around the squad. “Did you find anyone else besides me?”
“Five people. Two wounded. Carried on a stretcher,” Lebedev reported clearly, “We have fifty kilometers to go through these hills to the places where we can be evacuated. The last communication with the airfield was an hour ago. Only half of the regiment was left, but we wiped out a lot of Japanese, all the hills near the shore were strewn with the wreckage of their fighters. We wanted to take some of the Japanese pilots prisoner and interrogate them, but there are no survivors – they don't take parachutes with them.”
“They won't let us go quietly,” I sat down slowly, stopping Lebedev, who tried to object, with a hand gesture. “There are a lot of Japanese around here. They are scouting the area before the planned landing. They probably already know about our unit, so we should expect visitors soon.”
I felt a little nauseous, but in general my body was just hinting that I should lie still for another ten hours instead of acting like a mountain goat, no, I don't want to, I'd rather be a panda. Or don't they live in these hills?
I got up slowly. This time no one tried to stop me. If a senior officer thinks he's ready to get in line, that's his decision, and one wouldn't give him advice, unless he's a doctor, of course.
“I need to go up to this peak,” I pointed to the top of the nearest hill ahead. There were no trees growing there, only grass and bushes, and the view from there was clearly better than from the low place.
“Ignatov, Nikiforov, Nagulina, you come under the command of the Colonel-General,” Lebedev ordered without asking any questions. “The rest of you, keep moving.”
If I had relied only on my own hearing, even if it were unique, I would not have been able to make out anything in the cacophony of cries of local animals, who were wildly enjoying life and eating each other in the crown of bushes and trees, but I managed to see something from the top of the hill, even without resorting to Letra.
A fairly wide and calm river with heavily overgrown banks flowed along the bottom of the narrow valley that opened to our eyes. The crowns of the trees almost closed over the water, but in some places there were gaps.
“Left bank, three and a half kilometers, a glade in the bushes.”
The sun was high and shining in our backs, so we could not be afraid of the glare of the optics, and Lena brought binoculars to her eyes.
“Three people. It looks like they are Japanese. They came out to look around, too. Arisaka-38 rifle, Type 99 machine gun… what the hell is that?” Lena held out her binoculars to me, but I just shook my head in the negative.
“Type 100 submachine gun. This is an exotic weapon. Hardly ever used by the regular army, but it has been produced in small batches for over a year.”
“They seem to be serious guys,” said Nikiforov softly.
“There are at least three dozen of them, and this is not the only unit.”
* * *
“Korff, don't you think these Chinese planes turned out to be a little too tough and mean?”
“There aren't many of them left,” his deputy armament officer shrugged.
“But the Japanese lost almost two hundred fighters. Four to one!”
“When machines of different technological generations meet in battle, it can be even worse.”
