Prohibition of Interference. Book 3. Impact Strategy

Things were worse for the encircled troops, who struck against the Germans in the direction of the 40th and 21st Armies. Their small number of tanks, assembled in a single breakthrough group, were able to do very little, they only broke through the first line of the enemy's defense. This strike was not unexpected for the Germans, and they had time to prepare to repel it. Nevertheless, after receiving radio reports of the successful advance of the tank brigades, the Soviets increased the pressure from inside the ring. Even the weaker part of the encircled troops, blocked by the Germans north of Lokhvitsa, attempted a breakthrough, not in the eastern direction, as the enemy expected, but in the northern direction, hoping to connect with the main forces of the encircled.

“"Hornet", I can't hear you! There's a lot of interference!”

There was a crackling and howling coming out of my receiver, too. I distracted myself from controlling the bombers, which were already very far apart, and concentrated on finding the source of the interference. It looked like the enemy decided to make it difficult for me to coordinate the air group. Nine interference generators started working simultaneously below, jamming the frequency bands known to the Germans, on which radio communications between Soviet pilots were conducted. This problem arose at a very bad time, and although the way to solve it was on the surface, I needed time to switch to the predetermined backup frequencies and rearrange the command transmission scheme to retransmit via satellites. As it turned out, I didn't have that time.

“"Hornet",”… is "Shark 8",… attacked by ene……ter. Engi… dama… Losing alti…”.

I swore to myself in three languages, cursing my own stupidity and improvidence. How could I have missed those planes? Five Dorniers, converted to night fighters, came into range of my TB-7s and Yer-2s. The communication finally got back on track, but that didn't make it any easier.

“This is "Shark 4". Fighting an enemy fighter. I can't see anything, and he's firing with aim! Dropping the rest of the bomb load! Third engine's damaged! Right wing's on fire! We're going down! Flight crew, get out of the plane!”

Where did they come from? I knew that the Germans had night fighters as part of the air defense forces in the cities, but these machines could not operate on their own, without radio guidance from the ground and without illuminating the target with dozens, if not hundreds, of searchlights.

“"Sharks" 5, 9 and 10 heading strictly east! "Sharks" 3 and 6 heading northeast! Don't drop the bombs, they'll come in handy.” I tried to get my planes out of harm's way, but the enemy Dorniers also changed course, catching up with the not-so-fast heavy bombers.

“Lieutenant, head southwest!” I shouted to Kalina. Now in the sky over the battlefield no one but my Pe-2 could prevent the Germans from shooting our TB-7s and Yer-2s with impunity.

I kept giving commands to the bombers. At this point they were two-thirds clear of the bomb load, but there were still plenty of targets below.

“"Shark 6", three degrees to the left. Prepare to drop all remaining bombs!”

I could see that the bomber could not evade pursuit – it had gotten too far away, and my Pe-2 simply had no time to come to its rescue, but the cruel arithmetic of war demanded that I use the bomb load of the doomed plane with maximum efficiency.

“"Shark 6", 70 meters to the right… Drop the bombs! In a couple of minutes you will be attacked by a German fighter. I'll try to cover you, but I need time. The enemy will come in from behind-bottom. You will not see it, but on my command you will open barrage fire – let the enemy think he has been detected. Your task is to hold out for ten minutes.”

“"Hornet", this is "Shark 6". Copy that. Awaiting orders.”

I had eight planes demanding my attention at the same time, and I just didn't have enough time to figure out what was going on. I hastily ordered the computer to analyze the weaponry and equipment of the enemy fighters. They somehow navigated in complete darkness and with no communication with ground services, which means they had something on board that the Germans had not used before.

“"Shark 6", open barrage fire!”

I didn't have time to help the bomber after all. By the time my Pe-2 arrived at the scene of the air battle, the bomber was already on fire and the crew was leaving the doomed plane. The trick of shooting somewhere in the direction of the enemy Dornier gave the TB-7 some time, which caused the German to miss on the first approach and shoot not too accurately on the second approach. However, the enemy pilot did not miss his chance on the third attempt.

* * *

Oberleutnant Becker did not know much about the strategy and tactics of ground troops. His speciality was the sky, and, as practice has shown in recent months, it was the night sky. Nevertheless, even to him, a night fighter pilot, it quickly became apparent that something was not going right on the ground as the generals would have liked.

The hum of the cannonade came from both the west and the east. The radio air was clogged with interference, so a Feldwebel sent from the headquarters of the air group, to which his squadron was temporarily attached, brought Becker the command to take off. The Russian night bombers, about which Colonel Richtengden had warned the Oberleutnant, were already hovering over the combat zone, and the commanders of the Wehrmacht ground units complained about the painful air strikes, using very strong terms. Judging by the number and relative positioning of the affected units, Becker and four other Dorniers from his squadron were going to have to deal with a dozen or two adversaries. This did not embarrass the Oberleutnant – in the skies over German cities he had to meet many more British, and the Russians do not expect effective countermeasures and would be easy prey.

The heavy twin-engine jet fighter accelerated briskly down the runway and lifted off the ground. Perhaps Becker would have preferred to go into battle in a Messerschmitt Bf.110, but they had not yet had time to equip them with radars, and he had to make do with what was available. The Dornier also proved to be a good fighter in night conditions, and, by and large, the Oberleutnant was satisfied with his plane.

Making a U-turn over the airfield, Becker set a course for the site of the last air strike, information of which came just a few minutes before takeoff. The rest of his squadron's fighters were given other targets – there was no shortage of them, the angry cries from headquarters at all levels came through the communications lines in a steady stream, though, as Becker suspected, not everyone was able to reach his air group.

“Here they are!” Obergefreiter Gönsler, who served as flight mechanic and radio operator at the same time, reported. “The locator sees them! Judging by the size of the mark, it's a four-engine heavy bomber. The Russians have only a few dozen of them. It would be great luck if we could take it down.”

“Not if, but when, Wilhelm,” Becker grinned. “Turn on the infrared spotlight. The radar is a good thing, but the night sight gives more detail, even though it works at a shorter distance.”

“The Spanner-1 complex is ready, Herr Oberleutnant,” the flight mechanic said as he checked the sight-searchlight combination, “The enemy is changing course! They're trying to get away!”

“It was an accident,” Becker brushed it aside. “The Russians can't see us. They have nothing like our equipment. They just changed course for the next target. They won't get away from us – the Dornier has one and a half times the speed of this bast shoe.”

Far ahead, the ground was covered with flashes of explosions.

“Well, that's right!” Becker nodded to himself, “They were approaching a new target, so they changed course. Too bad we didn't have time to take them down before they bombed out.”

There it is, the Russian bomber. Huge, even compared to a twin-engine heavy fighter, but that doesn't help it… In the night sight, the plane, illuminated by an infrared spotlight, looked very contrasting, and the Oberleutnant slightly raised the nose of his plane, bringing the silhouette of the TB-7 into the sight.

The TB-7 (other names: Pe-8, ANT-42) was a Soviet heavy long-range bomber. Maximum speed (1941) – up to 350 km/h. Bomb load up to 5,000 kg. Practical range – 3,600 km. Practical ceiling 9,300 m. Shooting armament: four machine guns (ShKAS, UBT), two ShVAK cannons (20 mm).

Suddenly flashes flickered ahead, and tracers streaked across the sky, first to the right and above, and then a dozen meters below Becker's plane.

“Shit,” Oberleutnant swore, pulling the plane sideways and simultaneously firing his direct fire machine guns.

“There was no damage to the Russians,” said the flight mechanic with concern in his voice. “They are not changing course. It looks like they can see us after all, Herr Oberleutnant.”

“Even if they do, they don't see us well. The shooting was indirect, but you're right, they knew about us.”

The second attempt did not bring the expected result either. This time Becker decided to approach from the side, but the Russian bomber met him with two machine guns. The Oberleutnant did not try his luck, and after firing at the enemy at maximum range, approached him again from behind. The German pilot felt annoyed. He knew for sure the Russian shooters couldn't see him and were shooting just "somewhere over there," but Becker didn't want to run into a stray burst.

The third run was more successful. The bomber's aft gun mount was firing in a totally different sector from where Becker's Dornier was approaching its target, and the Oberleutnant, firing almost at point-blank range, put two long bursts into the huge carcass of the Russian plane.

“The Russian is on fire! Congratulations, Herr Oberleutnant!”

“There's plenty more of them here, Willie. We're going to have a rough night tonight,” Becker smiled.

“One more mark!” The flight mechanic shouted out in a suddenly changed voice. “It's something small, like our Dornier.”

“The Russians have twin-engine long-range bombers. I think the Yer-2, or something like that.”

“Not likely, Herr Oberleutnant. The speed is too high. It's going faster than us!”

“Pe-2? A dive fighter? The Russians originally designed it as a high-altitude fighter, then converted it to a bomber, but it still had pretty good speed. Point out the course, and we'll take him down.”

“It's coming to us itself, commander!" answered Gönsler in a puzzled voice, "The distance is a kilometer.”

“I see it!” The Russian plane was already quite distinguishable in the night sight, “right, Pe-2. It's going too boldly.”

Oberleutnant Becker was an experienced pilot, and he did not suffer from overconfidence. He remembered how strangely the crew of the downed bomber had behaved, having somehow learned of the danger before his Dornier had even opened fire. The German pilot drew conclusions. Becker decided that the Russians also had some kind of radar, but a very imperfect one that did not allow to accurately determine the direction of the target. So he simply changed course to attack the Pe-2 from the side.

“The Russian turned too!” immediately shouted out the flight mechanic. “The distance is 400 meters!”

“Take it easy, Willie,” Becker replied in a steady voice, though he himself was no longer confident.

“300 meters!”

Flashes flickered ahead. The tracer flashes passed close to the pilot's cockpit. Becker heard a sharp popping sound that no experienced pilot would ever confuse – the sound of bullets piercing the hull of the airplane.

The flight mechanic shrieked. The neon lights of the radar equipment blinked and went out. The right engine stalled and immediately burst into flames, and the Russian gunner's merciless bursts continued to pound the hull and cockpit of the plane. Not a single bullet has, by some miracle, hit Becker yet. Oberleutnant glanced at the flight mechanic. Willie was dead, there was no doubt about it, and the battered Dornier was losing control with every second.

“Crew, get off the plane!” Becker ordered himself.

The cockpit canopy flew off into the darkness; it was knocked out by the triggered squib. With an unbelievable effort the Oberleutnant managed to flip the burning Dornier, and he simply fell out of the cockpit, into the air, scalding cold at this altitude.

“I wonder who's down there,” thought Becker, swinging under the parachute canopy. He absolutely did not want to fall into the hands of the Bolsheviks.

* * *

An airborne radar, and even with a night sight and an infrared searchlight in addition! Why didn't I know about this? Probably because it is simply impossible to keep track of everything. The Germans just got their radar up to working order. This "Lichtenstein" has not even gone into production yet, and here it is, near Kiev, instead of protecting the capital of the Reich from raids by the British.

The Germans knew! They were waiting for us and getting ready, and I failed to calculate their plans, and it cost the Red Army's already depleted long-range aviation new losses. Five heavy long-range bombers in exchange for three German Dorniers. Two more got away – I just didn't have time to get to them…

“Comrade Senior Major of State Security, mission accomplished. Bomb strikes on enemy headquarters, communication centers and key infrastructure were carried out. The air group's losses were three TB-7s and two Yer-2s. Three enemy night fighters, provided with the latest equipment, enabling them to attack our planes without being illuminated by searchlights and without commands from the ground, are destroyed.”

“Five long-range bombers?” It was dark, but I noticed the change in Sudoplatov's expression. “You lost half the unique aircraft entrusted to you and you report a successful mission?”

“Mission accomplished, comrade…”

“Silence! Senior Lieutenant of State Security Nagulin, you're under arrest! Surrender your weapons.”

Chapter 4

“Comrade People's Commissar of Internal Affairs, your order has been carried out. Senior Lieutenant Nagulin was arrested by me personally right at the airfield and taken to Moscow.”

“Very well,” nodded Beria, looking intently at Sudoplatov. “Come in, Pavel Anatolievich, have a seat. I see you have questions about this case, and I'm ready to answer them.”

“Actually, I only have one question,” Sudoplatov shrugged and sat down in a chair at the conference table. “Why?”

“He is dangerous,” Beria answered briefly, and the Senior Major did not like the expression on his face.

“I absolutely agree with you, Lavrentiy Pavlovich,” replied Sudoplatov, who was not so easily embarrassed, “He is extremely dangerous. To our enemies.”

“Now, yes, but this is now. I look at the situation from a broader perspective and from a different angle. At the moment, the Soviet Union and Citizen Nagulin have a common enemy, and as long as that is the case, he acts as our ally, but he is a stranger here, Pavel Anatolievich. Think about it. You, me, and all of our comrades are Soviet people who grew up, were educated, and had careers in the USSR. Yes, the older generation remembers Czarist Russia, but that was a long time ago. Since then, the very idea of life has changed, new values have been formed, and we are waging a merciless war against the enemy for those values. Nagulin is a stranger here. Our system, all the achievements of the Revolution, are just words to him, behind which there is nothing.”

“That does not mean that he is an enemy,” Sudoplatov disagreed.

“It doesn't,” nodded Beria, “But all my experience tells me that he is fighting not for the Soviet Union, not for comrade Stalin, not even for Russia. Nagulin is pursuing some goals that only he knows, and for him we are all just a means to achieve them.”

“Aren't you being too hard on him, Lavrentiy Pavlovich?” cautiously objected Sudoplatov, but it was obvious that the words of the Commissar of Internal Affairs made him think, “His contribution to the struggle with the enemy…”

“I know,” Beria stopped his subordinate, “if it weren't for that, he would have been felling wood somewhere beyond the Urals a long time ago, or given a capital punishment – he had behaved very un-Soviet all this time. Given his merits, Nagulin is sitting in quite decent solitary confinement in Lubyanka, and investigators are strictly ordered not to use any coercion on him.”

“So what's next?”

“And that will depend on what happens in the next few days. No matter how you look at it, your Nagulin has killed five heavy long-range bombers, and the result of their actions is not yet quite clear. It's such a mess right now…”

“But the corridor to the surrounded troups was cut through!”

“And what grounds do I have to believe that it was due to Nagulin's actions? This corridor was being cut through by ground troops, and they did cut it. But where did the German night fighters, which were also equipped with the latest radar and night sights, come from? Are you silent, Pavel Anatolievich? And I'll answer. The Germans knew about Nagulin's operation and were preparing an ambush, which cost us great losses in the end. There are only two options here – criminal error or betrayal. And I still have to report to Comrade Stalin about it – long-range aircraft, by the way, were allocated to us under my personal responsibility.”

“Nagulin shot down three fighters himself,” Sudoplatov did not give up; he had the arrest of his subordinate stuck in his throat, but he carried out the order without hesitation.

“I know. Our agents were part of the TB-7 crews, and I received detailed information about the operation while the bombers were still in the air. That's why I gave you the order to arrest Nagulin on a formal, but quite weighty reason. Understand, Pavel Anatolyevich, we do not know the limit of his capabilities.

In this night battle, he again demonstrated abilities that an ordinary man cannot possess. He, unlike the Germans, had no radar, and he tracked enemy fighters as if he had been directed to them by radio, and even in the daytime when the weather was clear! Do you understand what this means? No amount of calculating, analyzing, and forecasting skills would help here. He just knew where the German planes were! He knew it, that's all! That means he's hiding some of his capabilities from us. And why should he hide them if he is not an enemy?”

* * *

“In other circumstances, I might have congratulated you, Colonel. You made a brilliant analysis of the situation and accurately predicted the Russians' plans.”

“Thank you, Herr General,” Richtengden replied in a steady voice, “Unfortunately, the correct prediction of the actions of the Russian marksman was not enough to win. This is somewhat at variance with the tone of the official reports, but I cannot call what happened near Kiev anything other than a catastrophe.”

“I would not be so categorical,” the General grimaced irritably. “Let's just say it could have been much worse, and the fact that just about half of the encircled enemy troops broke through, is to a large extent you merit. The night fighter attack failed to completely thwart the Russian plans, but it prevented the destruction of dozens of our headquarters and communications centers and allowed the surviving generals to restore control of the troops relatively quickly.”

“Surviving generals…” Richtengden repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. “We lost top officers who had gone through Poland and France, defeated the British, surrounded and captured hundreds of thousands of Russians. The catastrophe is just that, Herr General, not the fact that a crowd of demoralized Russians, who had abandoned all their equipment and artillery, broke out of the pocket.”

“Five Russian bombers were shot down,” the General, not wanting to continue the unpleasant discussion, changed the subject, “Our troops captured eight crew members of these planes. We weren't able to get all of them to talk, but we did get some things cleared up. You were right again. The Russian marksman was on board one of the bombers, the only Pe-2 the enemy had engaged in this operation. Initially it was not supposed to take part in bombing attacks and in combat operations in general, but after the appearance of our Dorniers, it took on the role of a night fighter, which was a very unpleasant surprise to our pilots.”

“I am aware of our losses, Herr General,” Richtengden nodded.

“The losses were not in vain, Colonel. Enemy pilots who were shot down gave detailed accounts of how the Russian spotter directed the actions of the bombers. Frankly speaking, it reeks of mysticism and makes me want to ask Reichsführer SS Himmler for permission to ask for help from his "Ahnenerbe",” – the General grinned faintly. “Neither the Pe-2 nor the heavy bombers had anything resembling radar, but all the captured pilots had the impression that they were guided to their targets by some incredibly accurate device that "saw" not only enemy planes but also recognized targets on the ground.”

“I don't think such a device exists,” Richtengden shook his head.

“Neither do I,” the General agreed, “or rather, it exists, but in a single copy. I am convinced that the Russian marksman is this device himself.”

“If this is true, and I am inclined to agree with your conclusion, it is not quite clear what we should do next. In this state of affairs, we can expect crushing nighttime strikes anywhere on the front and even in our rear. Herr General, do you have a good idea of the consequences of a direct hit by a two-ton bomb from a Russian TB-7 into one of our strategic facilities? And this plane is capable of carrying two of them…”

“There is one clue, Colonel. I told you that the human intelligence was given the task of establishing the identity and whereabouts of the Russian marksman. I did not believe in a quick result, but sometimes there are pleasant surprises.”

Richtengden said nothing, but leaned forward a little, listening intently to the General.

“It was an accident, of course, but it was good because it played in our favor. In the maintenance crew at the airfield, where the Pe-2 with the Russian marksman flew out, there was our agent. He was a small fry, in general, but with brains and imagination, though these details are not important. The main thing is that he managed to overhear a conversation between the marksman and a certain senior major of the NKVD, apparently his direct superior, and the conversation was extremely important. The marksman reported the mission and the loss of five bombers, after which the Senior Major arrested him. It's an odd decision, given the apparent success of the marksman's actions, but it's only to our advantage. In addition, we now know the name and rank of our figure – Senior Lieutenant of State Security Nagulin. According to circumstantial evidence gathered by the same agent, the arrested marksman was sent by plane to Moscow.

We have an agent at Lubyanka, but this is a very valuable person – a deep introduction of the early thirties. His position is not the highest one. Nevertheless, he has access to serious documents and will be able to get information about Nagulin. Naturally, we try to engage such a specialist only in exceptional cases, but this is precisely the case.

The Führer is furious. He declared the Russian gunner his personal enemy, summoned Herr Admiral to see him, and the Admiral, apparently, heard from the Führer not the most pleasant words about our service. Anyway, we now have a sanction for the "Guest" agent to get involved, and he's already been tasked, and very firmly. Nagulin must be eliminated. "Guest" has been given the contacts of several "sleeping" agents in Moscow. He must assemble a group of them and frame the marksman for their attack. If that doesn't work, he'll have to eliminate Nagulin personally.”

“And what is my role here, Herr General? You are not telling me all this for nothing.”

“The marksman won't be in custody for long. Russians, of course, are very fond of accusing their own comrades of espionage and treason for any reason, but not to this extent! Nagulin is valuable to them, and has done too much for the USSR to just kill him like that. Anyway, "Guest" may not make it, and then the marksman will reappear at the front, and I want us to be ready for that. Think, Colonel. Think and prepare. You have correctly predicted the enemy's actions more than once, and now I expect an equally accurate prediction from you.”

* * *

All of a sudden I had a lot of free time. On the first day, the investigators were still somewhat active, they called me in for interrogations, where I answered their questions in detail about the course of the operation, the purpose of the bombing attacks, and the circumstances of my loss of five planes.

I came across a variety of investigators, and although I behaved in an emphatically correct manner and answered all questions as fully as possible, some of them clearly wanted to beat me in order to stimulate the process of a confession. Nevertheless, no one laid a finger on me. Not only that, when asking me all sorts of bad questions, the NKVD officers did not even try to raise their voice, This, apparently, cost them a lot of effort, so on the second day I was left alone – the interrogations stopped.

Sudoplatov never showed up again. I never understood whether he made the decision to arrest me himself, or whether he received an order from above. However, it was not too important now – even if the initiative came from the Senior Major, it was clearly approved at the top.

I spent some time observing the consequences of my nocturnal actions. The bombing strikes we carried out disorganized the control system of German troops near Kiev for a time. It was enough to allow the tank brigades attached to the 40th and 21st Armies to break through to the encircled troops, and the infantry, which had come up, could fortify the walls of the narrow corridor, along which the remnants of the 5th, 37th and 26th Armies, completely exhausted, immediately began to move out of the pocket.

Unfortunately, not everyone was able to leave. Units of the Red Army, which were in a small pocket near Lokhvitsa, were able to break through to the main forces of the encircled troops, but the Germans quickly closed the gap and no one could help the cut-off troops – they simply had no strength. The main pocket could not be evacuated completely either. Someone had to stay behind to cover the retreat, and the enemy, after the bombardments ceased, was getting faster and faster at fixing the lines of communication and restoring the chain of command.

The corridor lasted only 24 hours, but it was enough to get about 100,000 people out of the pocket. These troops, unfortunately, were completely unfit for duty. They had to be taken urgently to the rear to be re-formed, so they could do almost nothing to help the 40th and 21st Armies, which had suffered losses. The Germans, enraged by the slap they received, launched a counterstrike and severely displaced our forces on the outer edge of the encirclement, finally deciding the fate of almost 100,000 Red Army soldiers and commanders who had not had time to leave the Kiev pocket.

After thinking about the situation for a while, I decided to do nothing. They were clearly not going to shoot me immediately, and I never heard any accusations of treason, although there were hints of it in the words of the investigators, but who cares about hints in a case like this? Anyway, I decided to use the time I had gained to think about my future plans, in case I did get out of here.

Back when I was running with Ignatov through the woods and fields near Uman, I decided that this world needed Space. That's right, with a capital letter. It is the only way I know of, if not to prevent, at least to delay the death of the local civilization, to turn it away from the path of self-destruction that dozens of other worlds, including, unfortunately, my Sixth Republic, have passed before it.

Now, of course, it's too early to talk about it. People on Earth have found a fascinating thing to do – World War II, but it is always war that gives a powerful boost to technology, and it would be absurd to miss such an opportunity.

Can I push the development of the very field of science and engineering that will take people into space in the future? I think so. Of course, we are not talking about any direct transfer of alien miracle devices, but I have other options. In some foreseeable future, I will undoubtedly be harnessing the high-tech materials and products at my disposal, to provide a powerful scientific breakthrough, but I will do so no sooner than I am confident that I am in complete control of the situation. Neither Comrade Stalin nor Roosevelt and Churchill will receive any extraterrestrial artifacts, at least as long as they are the ones in charge of the relevant parts of the planet.

Nevertheless, I will help the Soviet Union. I originally chose this country as having the largest territory on Earth, as well as the richest natural and human resources. In addition, the USSR was able to rise to a level of industrialization that is quite decent by local standards. It was not ruled by an amorphous democratic mechanism, but by a totalitarian regime, which was not very efficient economically, but it was fine-tuned. Now, however, another important factor has been added to all of these considerations: people. Not human resources, but living people, with whom I went into battle, defending their homeland and gradually beginning to treat it as my own.

Okay, let's skip the lyricism. So, what does mankind need at this stage to get closer to reaching outer space? The answer is obvious – everything related to jet propulsion and rocket technology. Ideally, I should have consulted the historical experience of my Sixth Republic, but the computers of the escape pod and the satellites had no information on that period of technological development, and I've never been interested in pre-space-age weapons and technology, so I'll have to use local knowledge.