Harry Kellogg III: The Red Tide: Stalin Strikes First

“Hopefully, this goes a long way toward answering why we just don’t bomb Moscow, and a dozen or so other cities and get this war over with.

1. We only have four bombs.

2. Not all of them will work as designed.

3. Not all of them will reach the target.

4. The Soviets have a darned good air defense system, at levels below 25,000 feet, with a fighter force equal to ours.

5. They have had nearly two years to study the B-29.

6. It will take time to assemble and position, a large enough raid, to test their air defense system.

7. There are remarkably few airfields in Europe designed to use the B-29. They must be specially constructed.

8. They have assassinated eighty percent of our atomic bomb assembly team members.

9. There was, and probably still is, a spy in the atomic bomb program and they likely have all the information I just shared with you.”

“Theoretically we could just fly higher than 32,000 feet, which is the current operational ceiling of their most advanced fighter-interceptors. As was previously mentioned, they’ve had access to three force-landed B-29’s for nearly a couple of years now. They have certainly tried, and have possibly developed, a solution to the threat of an atomic attack delivered by a strategic bomber force. Otherwise they would be foolish to attack now.”

“We have to determine what that defense is and how to neutralize it.”

“Conservative estimates are that we will be ready to use our greatest weapons in significant numbers in no less than six months. In the meantime we are at an extreme disadvantage in conventional forces.”

“Basically, we have to hang on, and hope for the best, until that time.”

“Hey Smitty what ya got there?”

“Knock it off Bill. I’m on my way to deliver this pile of stuff to the General himself. And I don’t need any grief from you.”

“Come on, Smitty, just give me a peek. I won’t touch nothin’. It’s not like its top secret or anything. Come on, just a little look-see.”

“Well, I suppose, a little look-see won’t hurt nothin’. I’m putting my cushy job on the line here, so what you got for me in return for this little lookey here?”

“Don’t be a jerk Smitty, just hand it over for a sec. Don’t get so uppity and all, just because you’re the General’s gofer don’t mean nothin’.”

“Well, it means I can show this to you or not unless you offer somethin’ up in return. One hand washes the other ya know?”

“Ah, man… how about a few smokes for all your trouble?”

“Make it an even dozen and you get a one minute peek, deal?”

“Oh, alright; it’s a deal.”

“What is that, anyway?”

“I dunno, just some map that the General wanted printed up and all colored in; pretty nice, huh? I think it has something to do with the Reds’ attack. It’s probably for some briefing he’s got coming up. See there? It’s got how many divisions the commies are attacking with, I bet.”

“Man, that’s a hell of a lot. What’s going on now must make the Battle of the Bulge look like a picnic. Damn, look at all that red and not much of our stuff. What do you make of this anyway?”

“Well, the boxes with ovals in them are armor units the ones with X’s are infantry, the ones with little wheels under ’em are motorized.”

“Geez… What do the little ‘x’s’ mean over the tops?”

“I pretty sure that the ‘xx’ are divisions, and the ‘xxx’ are corps.”

“Man that makes it even worse looking for our side. How about those figure-eight ones layin’ on their sides in the boxes?”

“Those are some kind of airplane units.”

May 11th, 1946

Outside Münster, Germany

07:46 hours

“Jeez, Mac! How are we supposed to stop ’em here? All the pillboxes and anti-tank ditches are facing the wrong way! What are we supposed to do? Just close the bunker doors in their faces? And have you see those tanks they got? Ours are like toys, compared to those monsters! You can’t count on the flyboys to whack ’em, like when we fought the Krauts. Hell, all you had to do was shout ‘Tiger’ and the ground-pounders would be all over ‘em like stink on shit! Now we have to wait for hours and even then they don’t show up most of the time. They’re busy fighting the commie pilots, and not paying attention to what is going on down here, in the mud.”

“Shut the hell up Jess! I got y’all this far, now just shut the hell up, and fucking pay attention! Everyone… FALL IN!” The rough-looking First Sergeant gathers up the rest of his decimated platoon into the wrecked barn to start the briefing.

“We’ve been ordered to make a stand here, just to slow ’em up, and to give the engineers time to destroy the depots behind us. We can’t move them, and we don’t want the Reds getting a hold of all them nice U.S.G.I. C-Rats. I know you’d hate having some Red bastard chewing on your chipped beef.”

From the crowd, “I heard that the Reds already got a hold of most of them depots.”

“Anyway the top brass has scrounged up a bunch of planes, and plans on surprising old Uncle Joe’s boys later today when they try to cross the river. They’ve been gettin’ kind of frisky lately, throwing haymakers left and right. We’re going to throw them a few jabs, to slow ’em up make ’em at least look through the window before they bust open the door, if you catch my drift.”

“The flyboys will actually be there when we need ‘em for the next couple days anyway. Get Sparks to call in the mud-movers, and punch a few holes in those commie tin-cans.”

“Now y’all… That’s ‘yous’ to you, Dutch… need to be a part of the jab. For the next few days until they flank us, this town is ours , and we do what we have to do to keep it.”

“If those Jews in Warsaw could hold out for weeks with only rifles and grenades, we can sure as shit do it with some 105’s and bazookas. Now get your asses out there and find a hole to hide in. If you can’t find one then dig one. We got plenty of ammunition, so don’t hold back. Use it, or lose it; interlocking fields of fire; barbed wire; obstacles blocking the main roads in; sharpshooters on the high ground. You know the drill. Stick ’em and move, then move back in and stick ’em again. The papers are calling it a ‘fighting retreat’. By the time we’re done, the papers back home will call what we done to the Reds here a good ol’-fashioned ass-whoopin’.”

After the meeting breaks up, the First Sergeant slips around the corner for a smoke and has time to think.

Jeezus! What am I doing here? These recruits can’t fight their way out of a paper bag! Why in the hell did I come back so soon? I could be back home, going to school on the G.I. Bill, playing with my kids when I come home at night. Instead I’m in charge of someone else’s kids, who are trying to kill as many other kids as possible. But this is just a delaying action, nothing but. The Russkis got the numbers on their side in men, tanks and planes. We don’t stand a ghost of chance. This is suicide

Press statement released to

AP/UPI/CBS/NBC/MBS