Stalin had no interest in the Adriatic, and swung into a tirade.
Nazarbayeva took the opportunity to slip into her shirt and jacket.
“Yes, Comr… ye… As you order, Comrade Ge…”
She took the receiver from her ear, and gently handed it to Poboshkin.
Considering her words carefully, she slipped into and adjusted her skirt.
“There will be no more sleep tonight, Andrey. Get everyone at their desk within fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, Comrade General. What are we looking for, Comrade General?”
“According to reports from the Baltic Fleet, diplomatic sources, agents, and Red Army ground forces, the Allies are presently entering the Baltic with a large naval force.”
As he turned to go, Poboshkin realised there was more.
He looked back.
“The GKO is concerned that it may be an invasion force on its way to Northern Germany… or Poland.”
Poboshkin nodded and went about his business with speed, leaving his commander to check over the Second Allied Army Group file once more.
She found nothing.
There was nothing to find.
“All units in position, Comrade General.”
Colonel General Vasily Sokolovsky was impressed.
NKVD Major General Oleg Piersky was impressed.
For different reasons of course.
Sokolovsky was commander of the Polish Home Front, the large group of Polish units banded together, and placed solely in the defence of their homeland.
The general distrust in their will to fight the Allied nations had condemned them to a static life, and the gradual decline of their combat power, as units in Germany benefitted from the equipment that was steadily stripped away from them.
None the less, the two Polish Armies still represented a very considerable force, and one that was now fully arraigned along the North coast of their home country.
Admittedly, they had practised and practised, and part of the units were already in position, following an exercise the First Army commander had staged without notice, or request to higher authority.
Previously, Sokolovsky would have visited the man to tear a strip off him but, General Zygmunt Berling, the officer in question, seemed to have changed his mood of late. No longer bordering on uncooperative, he was now knuckling down and no longer afflicted by the surly nature that had marked the last few months.
In fact, the unannounced exercise, which would have earned Berling a sanction of some sort, could now only be seen as a stroke of good luck.
NKVD officer Oleg Piersky was there, poised ready for the slightest indication of disloyalty, backed up by a large number of NKVD divisions, all strategically placed to be able to swoop on any Polish headquarters that looked suspect.
His subsequent report to Moscow was heavy in praise for the readiness and commitment of the Free Polish Forces, and did much to restore a little faith in their will to fight.
Spectrum Red was wholly successful in that regard.
For now, two armies of Polish soldiers crewed guns and tanks on the beaches of the Southern Baltic, ready to repel the imminent allied invasion.
“Shall we displace, Comrade General?”
Sokolovsky considered the suggestion, mentally working his way through the checklist of command, before responding.
He nodded at the NKVD officer’s suggestion before speaking with in a commanding voice.
“Gentlemen, we shall move to the secondary command centre immediately. Execute the Alpha Plan.”
Activity commenced in every corner of the Fenger Palace, as those tasked for the Alpha plan took up the necessaries of their jobs, ready for the move to the alternate command point, set in the forest between Torun and Bydgoszcz.
Within five minutes, the advance guard of the Polish Home Front’s headquarters was on its way to a set of inconspicuous wooden lodges, concealed in the tall trees that surrounded Cierpice.
Reports started to come in to 1st Baltic Front, the headquarters for all units in occupied Denmark.
Hazy at first, but soon firming up into definite actions at the airfields and anti-aircraft bases throughout the islands.
Casualties were not known, but the reports suggested high losses in equipment, particularly aircraft.
“Attention!”
The aircrew sprang to their feet as their regimental Commander strode in, his faithful hound, as always, at his heels.
“Comrades, be seated.”
As always, the eyes of the youthful were drawn towards the shining gold star, signifying a Hero of the Soviet Union.
Major Sacha Istomin had come a long way since the award of his medal following the 14th September raid on Birkenfeld.
If nothing else, he had aged a thousand years; life in the Red Air Force tended to be exciting and brief for most; those that survived carried many unseen burdens.
Istomin had risen to command the 21st Guards Bomber Air Regiment, and had led the unit in fierce combat that, in the end, brought about its total destruction during the air battles of October.
With his surviving nine air crew, he was sent to establish a new formation, the 911th Bomber Regiment, and today was to be its baptism of fire.
“Comrades, today we are called to arms in defence of the Motherland. The situation is serious and perilous, but I know you will do all that the Rodina asks of you.”
The base intelligence Officer rolled back a screen, revealing a map that was mainly blue.
“The Allies navies have broken through into the Baltic, and sunk some of our submarines. Our command believes it could be a force designed to attack into either Northern Germany here,” he made everyone jump as he slapped a pointer to the map, “Or here, the northern coast of Poland.”
He replaced the pointer on the lectern.
“Information is limited, but there are reports of possibly more than one hundred vessels, types unknown, passing Saltholm Island during the night.
“We have been tasked to respond to any reports of enemy activity in the area off the Polish Coast. We will have full bomb load, and we take off at 0700hrs. Any questions?”
There were a few.
What type of enemy vessels? Warships? Merchantmen?
What air cover do they have?
Where exactly are they?
Istomin could only shrug his shoulders.
“I don’t know, Comrades. We;ve been taken by surprise, and must do what we can today. Now, make sure you’ve maps for all areas… from Denmark to Leningrad. The 911th Regiment will not be found wanting on this day. Good luck, Comrades.”
The salutes were formal and smart.
Istomin strode from the room, no longer the joker, but a man for whom life had become very serious. Now he was a commander who cared for his men, and recognised a bad mission when he saw one.
Across Northern Germany, airfields mirrored the activity at Kluczewo, as Soviet aircraft of all shapes and styles prepared to rise and defeat the enemy armada.
Across Northern Germany, Norway, and Denmark, and also on the decks of aircraft carriers at sea, Allied aircraft were being made ready to rise up and meet them, and to destroy the greater part of Soviet air and naval power in the Baltic.
Rainbow Red was a trap.
As dawn spread across the sky, aircraft started to come into contact with those that they sought.
In truth, only the Allied aircraft found their targets, as the Soviet ships and aircraft had nothing to find.