John Schettler - Crescendo of Doom

“We’ll have six airships to their four,” he said darkly. “What about their ships out east?” He was asking about the Siberian eastern flotilla, where two more battleships, Irkutsk and Novosibirsk were supporting Kolchak in his uneasy watch along the frontier with the Japanese empire.

“The last word we had, as of 6:00 this morning, still had both those airships near Lake Baikal. That’s about 700 kilometers to the southeast. They might be here by dusk if they were summoned.”

“Not a very satisfactory situation,” Volkov steamed. “This will simply not do. Send to fleet command in Orenburg. I want every airship they can get their hands on mustered to a new division and heading east within the hour. Any ship that broke off and ran from the enemy here will answer to me personally, from the Captain on down through every crew station. I came here to command this damn operation, not to involve the fleet flagship in the fighting, yet now that is inevitable. We were hit back there, is the damage controlled?”

“A minor breach on the number six gas bag,” said Kymchek. “Gas volume was off fifteen percent there, but the engineers have patched it and re-inflated. Aside from some minor welding on the airframe, the ship is in good fighting trim.”

“Very well…” Volkov had a harried look on his face now. “What’s your assessment, Kymchek? Is this the place to have this fight?”

“It will be a risky operation, sir, but with all our troops landed, we’re committed here. Pavlodar and Talgar may get back west soon. If their damage is not great they could return with reinforcements. Krasnodar and Stavropol have already completed loading operations and should be underway soon. They will have troops as well.”

“You sound worried, Kymchek.”

“Well sir, the 11th Siberian Rifles are still down there. Karpov planted that division here last month, and they’ll have artillery. We hoped this unit would be rushed to the Ob River line after our attack started there, but at least a full infantry regiment remains here. The rail lines must be interdicted, in both directions, or we will likely see even more enemy forces arriving.”

“And the operation on the Ob River?”

“We’re still heavily engaged there. Three divisions are on the line, the last two are maneuvering north, but the Siberians have brought up the damn Tartar cavalry there. They won’t stop a regular division, but they’ll damn well slow us down. The woodlands are thick on that flank, with nothing in the area you could call a road. Our faster armored cars and lorried infantry will have a rough time there. I would not think we could count on any rapid movement east from the Ob River line, but we knew this from the outset.”

“Yes, you were quick to point that out the moment I proposed this operation. Something tells me you have been a reluctant warrior in this from the very first.”

“Sir, I will do all in my power to serve your interests and see that we prevail here… but—”

“But what, Kymchek?”

“But I’m a realist, sir. We can cut the rail lines here, tear up the tracks, but with our forces divided between Kansk and Ilanskiy, the prospect of taking the latter is not good, particularly if they do have the artillery I expect here, or even armor.”

“Armor? You said nothing of that before.”

“The 11th Siberian has a mobile element, with a full company of light tanks and two motorized rifle companies. It was in my report, and could be on the scene now. In any case, it will not be far away.”

“What kind of armor?”

“Armored cars, lighter T-60 and T-70 tanks.”

“We can stop those tanks, yes?”

“With what, sir? We brought no AT guns with us here. The men have AT rifles, grenades, and a couple 76mm recoilless rifles for direct fire support, but little else to stop an enemy tank.”

“Then we’ll hit them with our 105s from above. That was the plan from the beginning. I’m going to pound that Siberian Division all night if I have to.”

“Assuming we win the airship battle here.” Kymchek needed to say that, risky as it was. What good was his advice if he didn’t have the backbone to speak his mind?

Volkov shook his head, staring at the map, then decided something. “The plan to take the bridges at Kansk is to be scrapped. Instead that force is to simply tear up the rail lines east of Kansk and then fall back on Ilanskiy. I’ll want our entire ground contingent focused on that objective—and get that message off to fleet command. I want every airship we can find. I don’t care if we strip the entire front, by god! That bastard pulled a fast one here, and he’s not going to get away with it. I want the rest of the 22nd Airmobile division out here immediately!”

“There’s one other thing, sir—the objective.”

“The railway inn in the center of town. I want that under my thumb as soon as possible.”

“But why, sir? What is so important about that inn?” Kymchek knew it was dangerous to ask this again, but his need to understand the objective was paramount.”

“Just take it, Kymchek. I don’t care if we sacrifice every god damned squad in the brigade, but you take that railway inn! Understand? No more questions about it. Just get the job done!”

“Aye sir.”

Kymchek saluted and re-sealed the capsule hatch, leaving Volkov with his broken brandy flask and map. This wasn’t how things were supposed to pan out. I should be high above that storm, receiving reports on the ground fighting while I dined in my stateroom. Now look at me, huddled in this damn escape pod! Orenburg was never supposed to enter actual combat. I had eleven other airships with me to do that, but things have changed with the wind. Now this whole plan seems cursed. Karpov appears here out of thin air, coming right out of the heart of that storm. When this is over I’m going to find out how he managed that. In fact, that interrogation will be the only consolation I have in this affair.

Yet that ship of his… Tunguska is a match for Orenburg , and Karpov is too damn good at the helm. This could get very dangerous, and very soon, but I’m going to get to that railway inn if it’s the last thing I do.

Even as he thought that, another part of his mind realized how desperate and stubborn he was being here, and how rash and foolish. Suppose you do take the inn, it chided him, then what? Are you going to just sit there surrounded by your ground troops while Karpov summons every unit he can find within 300 kilometers of this place? And the inn itself is of no use to you now, correct? It was demolished in that earlier raid mounted by Sergie Kirov, and has not yet been rebuilt. What are you doing here? You’re making this a personal little vendetta, when you should be thinking in broader strategic terms. The Germans are about to launch their big operation against the Soviets. You should be back in Orenburg, planning how best to support that attack. Instead…

Vendetta!

WhileTroyak and Fedorov were watching the advance of the German 7th Machinegun Battalion at Raqqah, and Karpov and Volkov were vectoring in their forces at Ilanskiy, another warrior was about to rise from the ashes of his own making. Erwin Rommel had been a chastened and brooding general at Mersa Brega, sullen as he watched his mobile troops from the 5th Light Division digging in to hard defensive positions. Memories of the last war haunted him when he saw the men stringing wire and sewing fields of mines. It was a war of trenches, and great thundering artillery, dreadful moments in the space between barbed lines of death, and then came the gas, choking, asphyxiating, maddening.