Bradley poured himself another coffee, his face reflecting the thunderous turmoil inside.
“The very latest photo recon missions show no response that could be interpreted as inconsistent with the enemy’s full belief in ‘Ash’, and certainly nothing that might make us think that our real intentions have been compromised.”
“Nothing?”
“Absolutely nothing at all, Sir.”
Bradley took a swig and set the mug down slightly harder than he intended, sending some over the table.
“So… are you seriously asking me to risk my army in an attack that may be compromised by some English spy who was given a complete Ash file, who passed that on to his masters, who may remain fooled by it and some other French file… or may not… on the basis that there doesn’t seem to be any movement of enemy forces that would be appropriate to a compromised Rainbow Plan?”
Ike doubted he had heard that many words from Bradley in one go in his entire time with the man.
“General Bradley, what I am saying is that it is my firm belief that Spectrum is not compromised, and there is evidence to support that. We have every asset in place, hours and hours of planning have brought us to this point, and I can find nothing firm by way of evidence that would make me advise the abandonment of tomorrow’s attacks.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing, Sir.”
Bradley looked at his commander, expecting Eisenhower to take up the reins, but all he saw was a man intent on silent thought.
“Thank you, Sir Kenneth. Let me think on this for a while.”
Alone with Bradley, Eisenhower alternated between cigarettes and coffee as he read and reread the intelligence reports, particularly the list of Philby’s activities and the confession that Schofield and Tester had extracted.
There was nothing, no clue as to which course of action he should follow.
He turned to Bradley.
“Well Brad, what’s your take on this?”
The commander of US Twelfth Army Group had his answer prepared.
“It’s a risk. It’s always a risk, but someone has seen fit to pose us a question. Put simply, the risk would appear greater now than it was, but is that sufficient to make us abandon months of planning and to possibly lose the initiative again?”
Eisenhower nodded, inviting his main General on.
“When you made the decision to send our troops ashore at Normandy, the risk was great, but different. Here it isn’t the weather, but the enemy possibly having knowledge of our plans. We are told that probably isn’t a problem, but we cannot be sure.”
Bradley waked over to the huge map, with its notations and markings, the Allies dormant forces displayed for both men to see.
“You presently control the largest Army in history, men from a hundred countries in their thousands… tanks, aircraft, ships, everything in an abundance that we have never dreamed of.”
He finished waving his hands over the silent markers and turned back to his friend.
“We must go. I see no alternative, Ike. If we don’t then what do we do? I say we trust Sir Kenneth’s judgement.”
Eisenhower smiled.
“That is the decision I have reached, Brad.”
The two shook hands.
“Now, best you get back to your own outfit. If there are any issues, you’ll be the first to know.”
Bradley snorted and turned towards the map again, pointing without drama.
“Actually, Sir, I think that they will be the first to know.”
Both men’s eyes fell on the Baltic and North Poland.
“Then let us pray that I am right, Brad. Good luck to you.”
Half an hour later, news of the recovery and return of Philby’s file was delivered by a relieved Rossiter to a decidedly more relieved Eisenhower.
When the Marine left, Ike took a moment to offer silent thanks by way of a prayer to his maker, before moving to the telephone to pass on the good news.
Chapter 139 – THE LANDINGS
Tomorrow, and for the rest of our lives, we can study history. Today, we will have a chance to write it.
The skies of Europe may well have been dark, but they were alive with aircraft of all sorts, as heavy and medium bombers proceeded on their missions to drop high-explosive, night-fighters swarmed to protect their charges or move off independently to hunt alone in the night, and transports carried their vulnerable cargoes, ready to deposit men and equipment in enemy territory as part of the master plan.
Across Soviet-held Europe, phones were ringing either spreading the alert that had come from headquarters, or reporting more damage and destruction to vital infrastructure and assets in the Soviet rear.
The only Allied night-fighters not airborne that chilly night were those unfit to fly, or for whom there was no crew available, as the Allied Air commanders deployed every last asset available.
The Soviet defence response was cut to pieces in the early stages, as groups of American, British and German killers destroyed everything that came their way, for very little loss.
One DRL crew, flying the advanced JU-388J hunter-killer and tasked with protecting the transports, rounded on a flight of Soviet Bf110g’s, sending three spinning to the invisible earth below in under eight minutes.
Its five companions from 12th NachtJagdstaffel destroyed two more ex-Luftwaffe aircraft, although the sole Soviet-manned He-219A7 killed two of the German Republic’s aircraft before it caught fire and exploded in mid-air.
Elsewhere, exchanges were much more favourable to the Allies, with at least three Allied pilots making ace in just one flight.
The Europe-wide warning initiated by Moscow had the effect of encouraging Air Regiment commanders to send up anything and everything they had, which resulted in a rolling uncoordinated response by the Soviet Air regiments.
In less than an hour, the Soviet night fighter force suffered over sixty percent casualties.
By the time the dawn rose, there were many bases where mechanics and ground crew waited in vain, if only for a single aircraft.
The Allied air forces had delivered a tremendous blow, and Soviet night aviation would never recover, although Starshina Jurgen Helmutevich Förster was yet to find glory and a deserved and unique award.
It was actually the fault of the pilots from the 12th NachtJagdstaffel, who inadvertently strayed away from their assigned area in pursuit of some contacts to the south, opening up a gap between them and the aircraft of the 23rd NachtJagdstaffel.
The gap was small and invisible to the naked eye. The Major in charge of the 12th realised their position and moved part of his squadron back to cover the area. Although unconcerned, he reported the matter to control but, when questioned, was happy to vouch that nothing had broken the cordon.
He was wrong.
“Yes, Comrade Starshina.”
“Will you knock it off with the Russian crap, you idiot.”
“Zu befehl, Herr StabsFeldwebel.”
“One day, Hans, one day I’ll turn thing thing upside down so you fall out, after I’ve taken a shit in your parachute!”