Impasse (The Red Gambit Series) (72 page)

Djorov, his hands trembling a little as the shock started to work on his system
, understood the false mocking tone for what it was.

“
Come on, man, spit it out. Did you see promotion and command as I came fluttering by, eh?”

“
Well, Comrade, you know me. Always the man for the mission.”

Behind Djorov, men lifted by
their commander’s survival started to grin.

“
You are a model second in command, Comrade Mayor.”

“
I know, Sir. So may I be the first to congratulate you on completing your mission.”

Djorov suddenly got it, as did a few of the others. He decided not to spoil Oligrevin
’s moment.

“
Comrade PodPolkovnik, I believe you achieved the allocated task in approximately… eight hundred metres.”

The roars were genuine, as was the heavy slap that Djorov
.

Djorov actually found himself checking the distance.

“Not quite what the Rodina expected of you, Comrade PodPolkovnik, but I’m sure your report will do your efforts justice.”

“
I’m also sure it will, Comrade Mayor. And to honour your efforts, you get to drive the other Swallow tomorrow.”

All pretence gone, the two men hugged and kissed as only Russian men who have shared great dangers could do.

The Superfortress skimmed the ice-cold water with her left wing but Bradford exerted all his strength and recovered just in time.

Straightening the wounded
beast, he assessed the distance to the shoreline and decided that now was the time.

“
Brace yourself, Mister.”

He angled the fuselage
, and immediately the rear end started to bump on the water.

In the rear, the rest of the crew, unaware of Bradford
’s plans, panicked.

The shoreline approached as the friction started to rob the
‘Jenni Lee’ of momentum.

One last effort on the stick kept the aircraft
‘airborne’ for a few more seconds, before the fuselage dropped and started to skim, all the while the propellers on the starboard side turning, lashing the water, bending and starting to destroy themselves.

The feathered port props created drag themselves.

There was no control now, and Bradford could only watch, almost in slow motion, as the nose hit the water and a virtual tidal wave was scooped up and thrown at the two men in the pilot’s seats.

He couldn
’t see and couldn’t breathe, his mask ripped off and the weight of water pushing him into the seat.

He used his other senses
, and realized the aircraft was slowing considerably now.

In his mind he had the picture of where he was
, and what he hoped would happen.

Medal of Honor holder or not, he was scared of water
, and had tried to ensure that ‘Jenni Lee’ would slide onto the low beach and he would walk off as dry as a bone.

Dry he certainly wasn
’t, but the thump and then scream of tortured metal told him the Superfortress had reached the beach, and he felt relief beyond measure.

The beach was quite flat, slightly angled up from the water
’s edge, with only two obstructions, large rocks, to possibly impede the progress of the ‘Jenni Lee’.

The shattered nose hit the
larger of the two rocks and folded, the impact slowing the forward rush until there was nothing but the sound of water dripping and gurgling within the cockpit area.

The civilian engineer retrieved himself from the fantasy world in which he had cocooned himself to avoid the terrors of his approaching death.

He checked himself out, first mentally, and then physically, his hands finding everything where it should be and no damage of note.

The gurgling sound
that he had heard actually wasn’t water at all.

It was Bradford.

In the final impact, a piece of aluminium strut had been pushed forward like a lance, and caught him in the lower throat, raising him up out of the seat by two feet and holding him firmly in place.

The b
lood dripped down the metal, combining with the fuel and water mixture that started to drain out of the holes and gaps that the fight and crash had created.

From outside, the red streaks could be seen running freely from holes, as blood drained from a number of bodies, those in the back of the Superfortress having all died in the crash.

The gurgling stopped, which left only the civilian and the seagulls to survive the cold night to come.

If you kill enough of them, they stop fighting.

Curtis Lemay

In the north of China, the cold weather was having a negative effect upon the military plan, but only slowing it, not bringing it to a halt. That was partially because the Red Army and Japanese soldiers were performing brilliantly, and partially because the Chinese Nationalist enemy was greatly weakened.

Central China was relatively inactive now,
most main objectives taken, and the enemy being held in place without any difficulty, although further advances were on hold, pending the resolution of the difficulties in the south.

Marshall Vassilevsky was in pensive mood.

The central and southern areas were solely staffed by Japanese forces and, whilst their military ability was unquestioned, their technical capability and logistic issues were causing major problems, even to the point where Chinese and American counter-attacks were starting to show successes.

His paratrooper operations, previously cancelled, were converted into a major relocation of Soviet
airborne forces, landing infantry units, lock, stock and barrel, in the southern force zone, where they could add to the Japanese efforts and, hopefully, restart the advance.

The heavier weapons, tank, artillery and vehicles, would come by train.

A new force, the Third Red Banner Army, was created around four key units; 31st Rifle Corps, 1st NKVD Parachute Brigade, 4th Tank Corps, and 2nd Guards Rocket Barrage Division. Other smaller support units would be attached and sent south as transport capacity became available.

His CoS, Colonel-General Lomov, was already having iss
ues with the transport plan. The senior Japanese Liaison officer, Major General Yamaoka, was screaming down the phone to some unfortunate officer whose job was to sort out the difficulties at Nanjing, where two trains, containing tanks from the 4th Tank Corps, had come off the rails, paralysing the network, and requiring following units to redirect through other, longer routes.

That would have been enough to exercise all three men as it was, without the newly arrived report from Jingjiang, where US naval aviators had taken down the road and rail bridges over the Yangtze, further complicating the logistics of the Soviet move.

US warships sailed virtually unchallenged off the coast. The Japanese air assets were held back by the Imperial Command to support the new assaults and to protect vital assets.

Without an element of humour, Vassilevsky had quite reasonably stated to Yamaoka that a rail bridge over the Yangtze could quite reasonably be seen to be vital.

“Nikolai Andreevich, make a note. Ask our esteemed comrades in Pacific Fleet Command... and our esteemed allies of the Imperial Navy and Air Force,” Lomov swallowed noisily, betraying his anger with the situation, “And ask nicely,” Vassilevsky knew his CoS could be quite abrupt at times, “Tell them we need them to do something about the enemy carrier force in the East China Sea. Matter of importance and urgency et cetera, et cetera. Explain the reasons. Send it from me.”

Vassilevsky,
waiting on a new batch of fresh coffee, caught the eye of his CoS and raised an eyebrow in warning. Colonel-General Lomov accepted the admonishment with a shrug.

“
Now, gentlemen, we need to make sure that Okamura knows of the delays and acts accordingly. General Yamaoka?”

“
At once, Marshal Vassilevsky.”

The Japanese officer strode from the room, intent on phoning Yasuji Okamu
ra direct.

In the absence of a decent drink, Vassilevsky fell back on his trusty pipe.

“So, the NKVD brigade is there... and it’s complete?”

“
Yes, Comrade.”

“
One full division of the 31st Rifle Corps, without heavy weapons.”

“
Yes, Comrade Marshal?”

“
And nine tanks from the 4th?”

“
Err, no, Comrade Marshal. The reports were in error. Six of our tanks arrived. The other three are the last German vehicles we had retained. They were shipped separately, but arrived at the same time, destined for use by our friends.”

“
Three months was all we expected, so I suppose we can’t complain.”

“
No, Comrade. I admit... I’m impressed by their achievements.”

A
secret Soviet study, not for general circulation, and definitely not for the sight of any Japanese officer, had predicted that the captured German vehicles would have an operational life of three months at the maximum. It had reasonably suggested that a lack of spares, combined with an anticipated decline in the numbers of qualified mechanics, would add to losses sustained in combat, and that the areas in which the vehicles might operate were not wholly suitable, also contributing to losses.

The Japanese forces had done extremely well, although the numbers of vehicles had declined across the range of units. Even so, advance elements of the Japanese 63rd Special Army were now only sixty kilometres from Nanning.

Coffee arrived and the Marshal set aside his pipe in favour of a large mug of the steaming hot liquid.

“
Sort out this logistical shit storm and we should be fine.”

Lomov wondered whether that was for his benefit, or whether the Marshal was trying to convince himself.

Vassilevsky, mug in one hand, ran his finger steadily down the map, following the run of Route 487, all the way to Nanning.

Captain Nomori Hamuda was praying in the ‘Way of the Gods’, as Shintoism was sometimes translated.

The war had taken its toll on
‘Rainbow’ and left scars on all of its soldiers, be they physical or mental.

One of their running mates, the 2nd
‘Moon’ Brigade, had been erased from the order of battle in three days of heavy fighting, the handful of unwounded soldiers transferred to the 1st ‘Sun’ Brigade to fill in the huge gaps there.

Hamuda finished his devotions and
arched his back, his aching body the victim of relentless miles in a hard steel shell.

Fig#111 - Imperial Japanese Army forces, advance down Route 487, China, 15th December 1945.

Panther
Masami, the ‘Elegant Beauty’, had lost nine of her sisters, a further one also now absent, being repaired with pieces scrounged from the wrecks of her running mates.

As it was Hirohata
’s tank, and the fiery young officer was overseeing the mixed German-Japanese workshop personnel, Hamuda knew it would be back in line as soon as was humanly possible.

The
last four running Panthers were now behind the leading units, resting and doing maintenance whilst the 2nd Group, a composite of 2nd and 3rd Companies joined together because of casualties, drove hard south, pushing the Chinese forces before them.