He led the four plane element after the surviving MiGs, who were desperately trying to get back to cover their charge.
Steinhoff tried a short burst, for no other reason that reminding the enemy pilot he was there and distracting him from the purpose of protection.
The ruse worked, and the MiG broke right, away from his preferred route, leaving only one Soviet fighter committed to protecting the eccentric aircraft.
Steinhoff turned back onto course, followed by his wingman, just in time to see one of his aircraft smoke and fall away from its position behind the Trident.
The swept wing bomber had a modest defensive armament of two 12,7mm machine-guns, but they were enough to wreck the starboard engine of Oberleutnant Schmidt’s Schwalbe.
The 262 slowed and fell to one side, allowing the Soviet gunner another opportunity.
More bullets struck home, in both metal and flesh, and the fighter dropped away with an unconscious man at the controls, both coming to a final resting place in the ice-cold water of Lake Narew.
The other 262 pilot made sure his camera with its evidence was safely secured before gaining on the manoeuvring Trident and steadily feeding a stream of 30mm shells into the delicate airframe.
The aircraft simply came apart under the hammer blows, permitting time for one man to escape and take to a parachute.
Screamed warnings alerted the victor to his danger and the ace threw his 262 around the sky in some impressive combat manoeuvrings.
However, on his tail was an expert who had survived the harshest of tests, and the surviving Soviet fighter fired a burst that simply smashed apart the wing at the base, allowing the damaged structure to fold over the canopy and entangle itself with the engine on the other wing.
The strange sight, almost like a piece of origami, fell from the sky in an ungainly fashion.
Djorov spared a seconds look at his victim, whereas the German pilots who left their radios on receive heard him scream all the way to the ground, fully conscious and unwounded but simply unable to escape from his cockpit, enclosed as it was in bent metal.
Steinhoff cursed his thoughts of relief when the aircraft struck the ground and the pathetic screams stopped.
The MiG was diving and building up an incredible speed, causing Steinhoff to weigh up the pros and cons of pursuit.
He decided to return to base and officially report the encounter to NATO headquarters, and unofficially inform the strange intelligence officer that his clandestine mission had been successfully accomplished.
By 1330 hrs, because the combat had clearly taken place over Allied territory, the entire German Army was given an order to go on full alert.
The Polish forces received a similar order twelve minutes later.
Eisenhower begrudgingly gave the same order at 1421 hrs and Europe moved closer to a renewed war.
The initial reports from Karusel control were reinforced by the swift verbal report of regimental commander Djorov, and the fact that the Allied aggression had clearly taken place over Soviet territory was considered sufficient cause to bring the Red Army to a state of full readiness from the Baltic to the Adriatic.
By 1430 hrs on 11th January 1947, the world stood on the brink of war once more.
1501 hrs, Saturday, 11th January 1947, Camp Vár conference facility, Lungsnäs, Sweden.
“Gentlemen please!”
The shout was loud enough to cut over and through the angry conversation that had grown to the level of a football crowd’s baying.
“Gentlemen, please… seat yourselves and let us resolve this matter with no more blood spilt and your countries still at peace. Please… be seated.”
Östen Undén, on the site by the purest of chance, calmed the assembled politicos and soldiery enough to promote discussion.
“Now, whilst you have been shouting threats at each other, my staff have spotted the problem and it’s not the fault of your air forces. I repeat, no one in the sky over Maków Mazowiecki is at fault. It’s an error in our own processes here that has triggered this unfortunate event.”
He nodded to his aide who had quickly prepared the basic information to tell the assembled negotiators how a simple cartography error had brought the two sides into conflict once more.
The short of it was a simple misdrawing of the line on the Soviet version, something that had been missed by the Swedish cartographers as well as both sides, who possessed a copy of each version.
Given that the ‘two frontline’ process was intended to keep ground forces apart, two versions were needed each time the Soviets conceded ground and the Allies moved forward, thus ensuring the armies did not come into contact and reducing the chance of any unfortunate incidents.
The ground lines had been accurately drawn, but the overlapping air limits, overlain to permit peaceful monitoring of the territory five miles either side of the front line, had been slightly misdrawn around Maków Mazowiecki, which meant that both sides were correct in believing that the combat took place in air space either belonging to them or permitted for their use, and that the other side were the aggressors… depending which map you read.
Despite the Swedish assurances, the two sides took a further two hours to agree the facts were as Undén’s aide had presented, and that they would immediately advise a cooling off and scaled reduction in readiness over the next three days, suspending all relocations and stipulating no flights beyond land forces boundaries until all air boundaries had been double-checked by both sides.
A session that had started with hands on holsters eventually broke up at 1900 prompt, allowing the two sides to experience a calm dinner and evening in their various camps.
In the various headquarters across the continent, the men who would have shouldered the responsibility for a renewed combat all heaved a collective sigh of relief.
Almost all anyway.
2013 hrs, Saturday, 11th January 1947, the Kremlin, Moscow, USSR.
“Thank you for your report, Comrade Nazarbayeva.”
He listened to her closing words, his mind already moved on to other matters.
“Yes, thank you, Comrade. I’m as relieved as you. Good bye.”
He replaced the receiver and picked up his pipe, lighting it thoughtfully and enjoying the first few puffs in contented silence.
“The woman confirmed everything you said, Lavrentiy. A simple error… for which we must be thankful.”
“Indeed, Comrade General Secretary. It’s too soon, far too soon.”
“However, this report from Oktyabrskiy is wonderful news, is it not?”
Beria played his cards carefully, as usual.
“It’s one exercise only, and their first attempt ended in abject failure it seems. However, the Navy’s pleased with it. I’ll be happier when they’ve repeated the exercise so we know it’s not a fluke.”
As usual, Beria’s verbal dance was not wasted on Stalin, but he was too buoyed by the avoidance of a premature return to war to be too concerned at his henchman’s lack of enthusiasm.
The pipe went out and he thought better of reloading it, instead extracting a cigarette from the pack on his desk.
“None the less, I want those responsible for this close call dealt with appropriately. Some examples made publically for the benefit of the Allies will further reduce tensions. Now we’re committed to our course, we can’t afford to fight ahead of time.”
“I agree, Comrade General Secretary.”
“Even with this good news.”
The dictator held up the report on the Black Sea tests.