A Beriev Be-4 reconnaissance aircraft observing the target area reported that the V-2 splash was observed two and a half kilometres from the expendable old ship, a huge distance when aiming at such a target…
…but within acceptable bounds when aiming at a city.
Chapter 184 – THE PROVOCATION
Those wars are unjust that are undertaken without provocation. For only a war waged for revenge or defence can be just.
1357 hrs, Thursday, 9th January 1947, Justizzentrum, temporary government building #3, Magdeburg, Germany.
“Thank you, Zimmerman. Coffee in my office please, and see that we’re not disturbed.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The old man wandered off with the remains of the dessert course and ordered up the coffee immediately, which he quickly delivered to the private office of his boss.
The two men were suddenly alone.
“So, your report is excellent news. Our problems have been removed.”
“Yes indeed, and although it didn’t all go to plan, the team on the ground in Poland adapted and achieved the goal… and more to the point did it without arousing suspicion.”
The senior man flicked to the page in the report that had caught his eye.
“The tattoo… a master-stroke I must say.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Seems to have thrown the investigation down a one-track road to a dead-end. You were unfortunate not to get the prime target with the bomb, but I agree that your team adapted well in getting to him quickly.”
He flipped the folder shut and pushed across the desk.
“So, that’s an end to the matter, yes?”
The junior man shifted uncomfortably as he replied.
“Sir, you know I can’t promise that but, as far as we’re concerned, they were the only two who had started to put together the situation. They’re both removed, and there’s no suggestion that anyone else knows. However, we’ll remain vigilant.”
“I would hope so, Vögel”
They sipped their coffee in silence.
“So, I can report to higher authority that the problem has been efficiently removed and there is no threat to our plans?”
“Within the limitations I’ve stated, yes, Sir.”
“Excellent.”
The senior man pushed the file across the table and Vögel swept it up as if it was contraband.
“This will now be destroyed, Sir. I’ll see to it personally.”
“No trace?”
“None at all, Sir.”
“Excellent. Well done. Now, I’ve a call to place.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
The call was connected and Pflug-Hartnung passed on news of the success, selecting his words to represent the completion of some low-level intelligence mission in Norway, whereas he was in fact reporting the successful assassination of both Gehlen and De Walle.
Rudolf Diels replaced the receiver with unconcealed joy and made his report.
“Pflug-Hartnung has done well. Good news, Diels, well done. Now we can progress without having to look over our shoulders all the time.”
“Jawohl, Herr Kanzler.”
Oberfeldwebel Martens checked again.
He checked again.
He checked a final time and picked up the telephone.
‘Trauenfeld.’
“Herr Hauptmann, Martens here. There’s a problem with the latest repositioning maps.”
‘What sort of problem, Oberfeldwebel.’
“There’s some border lines that simply don’t work, Sir. I think it’s an issue that could lead to some problems. Can I come up, Sir?”
‘I’m with the Maior right now… moment…’
Clearly Hauptmann Trauenfeld had put his hand over the receiver to speak to his commanding officer.
The conversation was brief and Trauenfeld was back in seconds.
‘Come up now, Oberfeldwebel. The Maior would like to see what you have.’
The phone clicked before Martens could reply.
Picking up the two maps and his notes, he moved quickly up the stairs to the second floor office.
1234 hrs, Saturday, 11th January 1947, over the demarcation line, Maków Mazowiecki, Poland.
“Yaguar-krasny-odin. I see them. Maintain formation. Let them pass with no interference. Stay with our big cousin. Out.”
Djorov settled his hands on the control stick, relaxing his grip, as he kept an eye on the approaching enemy aircraft.
His flight of five MiG-9s had already taken station above and behind the single reconnaissance aircraft that was their charge for this mission.
It was an unusual beast, one of the first Soviet copies of the incomplete Junkers-287 jet bombers captured in April 1945.
The strange sweep of the wings never failed to impress the veteran ace despite the EF-131s, as they were designated or Trident as the crews called them, having trained at the special Stakhnovo airbase.
Colonel Djorov could have sent someone else on the mission, but he had been back at his squadron for four weeks, and the stiffness of a desk needed to be flown out of his legs.
The approaching enemy were clearly moving at high speed as they started to quickly loom large.
Six enemy aircraft whooshed past, engines roaring, two over the top of the fighter group and four through the gap between the Trident and its protective force, perilously close to the single reconnaissance aircraft.
Their jet wakes created difficulties for the Trident’s pilot and he struggled to keep his charge stable in the roiled air.
“Yaguar-krasny-odin to flight, close on our cousin. We’ll tolerate no repeats of that. Out.”
The five Soviet jets dropped some height, something that fighter pilots the world over rarely conceded during combat, but in these circumstances, Djorov considered the Trident would appreciate the closer company.
He was correct, and the three crew on board the Trident breathed easier as the MiGs came closer, leaving no gap through which the DRL fighters could pass.
The six ME-262s swept round in a tight circle and drove hard across the front of the Soviet formation, cutting aggressively close to the nose of the four-engine bomber.
“Yaguar-Krasny-Odin to Karusel’, over.”
“Go ahead, Yaguar-krasny-odin.”
Djorov sought a positional check from the ground control radar station in their sector, which was satisfactorily within shared airspace.
Which then meant that the DRL aircraft were also within the shared zone, and perfectly within their rights to demonstrate against aircraft seemingly heading to cross the line from an acceptable presence into an unacceptable intrusion.
Which was, in essence, part of the mission.
To poke but not provoke.
What happened next nearly brought the sides to blows once more, as each blamed the other for the air battle over Maków Mazowiecki.
‘191’
Johannes Steinhoff totted up a kill for the first time since ‘peace’ had descended on Europe, his 30mm Mk 108 cannon flaying one of the Soviet MiGs into strips of scrap.
Behind him, five more 262s of the 200th ZBV Jagdgeschwader set about the now maneuvering Soviet fighter group.
Three MiGs were down in under a minute, the aircraft well matched for speed, but with surprise on their side, the DRL aces had little trouble in putting shells on target.
His pilots broke into two groups, one of four, and a pair that he ordered to take down the strange forward swept winged aircraft, after having taken pictures for his intelligence officer back at base.