The mission had been looked at previously, and set aside for a number of reasons.
The biggest one was the strength of Soviet air defences, a strength that had been eroded over time, as the demands of the European Front called fighter unit after fighter unit to the German front.
Secondly, the limited strength of the Allied air forces that could carry out the mission.
Thirdly, the situation regarding Soviet supply had not been fully appreciated until recently.
In 1940, the British and French had considered bombing Baku and Grozny, to strangle the fuel supply to Nazi Germany, such supply being a by-product of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact.
The groundwork done at that time, Operation Pike, was looked at and used to plan the newest attempt to knock out a major part of the USSR’s oil production.
Three of the India-based RAF squadron’s were tasked, flown from the sub-continent to a hastily refurbished facility at Shiraz in Iran. From there, 99 Squadron’s Liberator Bombers, supported by 211 Squadron’s Mosquitoes, both covered by the Beaufighter Mk X’s and XI’s of 177 Squadron, were sent northwards to damage the oil production facilities at Baku on the Caspian Sea.
They appeared high on the eastern horizon and caught the Soviet air defences on the hop.
Nothing was in the air.
No flak, no aircraft, no balloons, just a scoop of Pelicans, and a mated pair of Whooper swans to interrupt the rich blueness of the perfect late afternoon sky.
Once the defences appreciated that the growing dots were enemy aircraft, the warning went out, and the civilian populace scurried for cover, as the gunners prepared their weapons, and the fighter pilots ran to waiting machines.
From the airfield considered home by the 57th Guards Fighter Aviation Regiment, the surviving six P-63 KingCobras rose to meet the threat.
On the other side of Baku, the 773rd Fighter Aviation Regiment responded by putting eight P-39 Aircobras in the air. From the same field, three Spitfire Mk V’s of the Baku District Pilot Training Unit added their venerable strength.
The Fighter Regiments had both been transferred back from the Western Front, returned to safer airspace to recover and bring themselves back up to strength, before going back to Germany.
As the Soviet planes went up, the Allied bombs came down, the Liberators dropping from a comfortable height of twenty-two thousand feet.
Five hundred pound bombs fell amongst the storage tanks and wellheads, the refineries and the chemical plants.
The target was so densely packed that it was difficult for the bomb-aimers of 99 Squadron to miss.
211 Squadron came in lower, with more precise intent, pressing hard behind the torrent of descending bombs, their mission to ensure that the prime refining and chemical facilities received direct attention.
The training unit Spitfires flogged themselves to death, seeking valuable height, as they pursued the Liberators.
The Aircobras and Kingcobras latched onto the Mosquitoes of 211 Squadron, spoiling many a bomb-run, causing misses, or even preventing release.
Above the whirling mass came the Beaufighters, plunging down to take the pressure off the unarmed Mk XVI Mosquitoes.
Too late for one RAF crew, their aircraft coming apart around them, as the heavy 37mm cannon shells of a Kingcobra ripped the plywood wonder apart.
The firepower of the Kingcobra was impressive, adding four .50cal Brownings to the heavy cannon that fired through the propeller boss.
The Beaufighter brought a lot more to the aerial combat, its standard four 20mm Hispano cannons supplemented by six extra .303 machine guns on the wings.
Three of the cobras were hacked down on the first sweep, the weight of metal defeating the Bell’s robust airframe.
None of the pilots escaped and all five aircrew, British and Soviet, were dead before their aircraft hit the ground.
The Wing Commander in the lead Mosquito was hopping mad.
“Sinbad Leader calling Sabre leader, get them off our backs. Now! You just cost us an aircraft. Now do your jobs!”
Squadron Leader Arkwright grimaced at the open remarks, made more uncomfortable by the fact that the WingCo was right. 177 Squadron, no, he had been slow to respond to the enemy fighters.
“Sinbad Leader, roger.”
The Beaufighters roared in again, keeping themselves between the interceptors and the regrouping Mossies.
In the sky beyond, smokey, fiery trails marked the death dives of two of the training unit’s Spitfires, victims of the defensive armament of the withdrawing Liberators.
The Kingcobras flew off to one flank, the Aircobras diving to ground level, in an attempt to split 177 Squadron’s defence.
Arkwright nodded in acknowledgement.
‘These boys know their job;’ a professional’s opinion on the swift reaction of the Soviet pilots.
“Sabre leader to all Sabre. Blue Flight come to port and stick with the yellow tails,” the unofficial marking recently adopted by the 57th Guards helping him in his description, “Red Flight take the flight at ground level. Green flight return to protect the bombers. Execute.”
Three distinct groups of Beaufighters formed, Blue flight scoring a swift success, downing another of the Kingcobras. Red Flight pursued the Soviet 773rd Regiment, and came under fire from light AA weapons, one of the heavy RAF fighters losing an engine as bullets smashed home.
Green Flight, complete with the Squadron Leader, ran straight into a barrage of fire from heavier weapons, guns that had been waiting for the moment that they no longer risked hitting their own.
One Beau received a direct hit in the observer’s position, severing the fuselage in two. The rear portion fell away like a piece of garbage, its descent irregular and uncontrolled.
The front section, still powered by two brutish Bristol Hercules engines, flew on unsteadily, the horrendously wounded pilot trying hard to make his aircraft stay in the air.
He failed, and the front section fell away, arrowing into the water of the Caspian Sea.
Three more Beaufighters took hits.
One lost an engine and part of its wing, but a magnificent piece of flying brought the aircraft safely down, landing heavily on one of the wider local roads.
The pilot brought his damaged aircraft to a halt and immediately set about destroying everything of value. He need not have bothered, as the gunners in two venerable BA-11 armoured cars smashed the Beaufighter and her crew to pieces, happy to be doing something to protect the Rodina from the terrorist flyers.
The second fighter lost four foot of its port wing and, more importantly, the fuel cell in the wing was punctured, spilling precious fuel.
None the less, it remained airborne and limped off in the direction of its home base.
The third aircraft hit belonged to Arkwright.
The 37mm shell had failed to explode, which, for Arkwright, was just as well.
It had entered the aircraft just behind the control column, travelled between his arms without touching uniform or flesh, and exited the canopy, smashing everything in its path and ventilating the cockpit.
Face cut by shards of perspex from the damaged cockpit, Arkwright struggled to see, the blood dripping into his eyes.
None the less, he was still called upon to fly the aircraft and make decisions, the first of which was reacting to Red Flight’s failure to interdict the Aircobras.
Green flight were best positioned now, and so he sent them in, staying back as his lack of proper vision could be more of a liability in the close quarter fight.
Blue flight was directed to recover their station on the Mosquito squadron, which unit was holding briefly, whilst the Aircobra situation was resolved.
Green Flight attacked and scored immediately, sending the enemy commander spinning spectacularly into a burning oil tank and driving the Aircobras away, opening up the attack run to the Mosquitoes of 211 Squadron.