Free The 900 Days by Harrison Salisbury
Authors: Harrison Salisbury
with the No. 1 Alert. A siren sounded and there were signal shots from batteries. The radio loudspeakers began to call sailors back to their posts: “ Vnimaniye . . . Vnimaniye . . .”
City authorities, thinking another practice alert was under way, telephoned staff headquarters, protesting the blackout: “Why is it necessary to black out the city so quickly? The fleet has just come back from maneuvers. Let the people have a chance to rest.”
They were told to obey orders and not to ask questions. Meanwhile, navy headquarters called the power station and the main switch was thrown. The city sank into darkness.
The city and fleet were fully blacked out, but from the sea still shone the beams of the two lighthouses. Telephone connections to the lights, it developed, were out of order, possibly sabotaged. Finally, a motorcyclist was dispatched and the lights were shut off.
Here and there antiaircraft batteries fired a round of tracer bullets to test their weapons. Fighter planes revved up their motors. Sailors and commanders streamed back aboard their ships to the signal “General Quarters” issued at 1:55 A.M. By 2 A.M. Officer of the Day Rybalko noted that the fleet was in readiness to meet attack.
At about 3 A.M. or a little later the acoustic listening posts on the coast at Yevpatoriya and Sarych Cape reported the sound of airplane motors. Officer of the Day Rybalko checked with the Fleet Air Command and the Air Force. No Soviet planes were in the air. Lieutenant I. S. Zhilin of the Antiaircraft Command telephoned, asking permission to open fire at “unknown planes.”
Rybalko called the fleet commander, Admiral Oktyabrsky.
“Are any of our planes in the air?” Oktyabrsky asked.
Rybalko replied: “No, none of our planes.”
“Bear in mind that if there is a single plane of ours in the air you will be shot tomorrow,” Oktyabrsky rejoined.
“Comrade Commander,” Rybalko persisted, “may we have permission to open fire?”
“Act according to your orders,” snapped Oktyabrsky.
Rybalko turned to Vice Admiral Eliseyev. The answer was so equivocal the young officer did not know what to do.
“What answer shall I give Zhilin?” Rybalko asked.
“Give him orders to open fire,” Eliseyev said decisively.
“Open fire,” Rybalko told Zhilin.
Zhilin understood the personal risks of such action.
“Bear in mind,” he said, “that you are taking full responsibility for this order. I am putting this note into my operations journal.”
“Write what you want,” shouted Rybalko, “but open fire on those planes.”
Almost without interval the roar of planes approaching Sevastopol at low altitude was heard, followed by the chatter of antiaircraft guns, the whine of bombs, the searing stab of powerful searchlights. Planes began to fall in flames. Battery No. 59 brought down the first. The crash of bombs rumbled over the harbor.
It was now some time after 3 A.M. , Sunday, June 22.
By 3 A.M. in Moscow Admiral Kuznetsov had stretched out on a leather divan in the corner of his office. He could not sleep. He kept thinking of the fleets, of what might be in progress. He had great difficulty in keeping from picking up the telephone and again calling Admiral Tributs for it was the Baltic Fleet that gave him the gravest concern.
However, he managed to restrain himself by repeating Moltke’s aphorism that once you have given the order for mobilization there is nothing to do but go to sleep for now the machine is working on its own. But he could get no sleep.
A strident ring from the telephone brought him to his feet. It was now fully light.
He lifted the receiver.
“The Commander of the Black Sea Fleet is reporting.”
Kuznetsov knew from Oktyabrsky’s excited voice that something unusual had happened.
“An air attack is being carried out on Sevastopol,” Oktyabrsky gasped. “Our antiaircraft guns are beating off enemy planes. Some bombs have fallen in the city. . . .”
Kuznetsov looked at his
City authorities, thinking another practice alert was under way, telephoned staff headquarters, protesting the blackout: “Why is it necessary to black out the city so quickly? The fleet has just come back from maneuvers. Let the people have a chance to rest.”
They were told to obey orders and not to ask questions. Meanwhile, navy headquarters called the power station and the main switch was thrown. The city sank into darkness.
The city and fleet were fully blacked out, but from the sea still shone the beams of the two lighthouses. Telephone connections to the lights, it developed, were out of order, possibly sabotaged. Finally, a motorcyclist was dispatched and the lights were shut off.
Here and there antiaircraft batteries fired a round of tracer bullets to test their weapons. Fighter planes revved up their motors. Sailors and commanders streamed back aboard their ships to the signal “General Quarters” issued at 1:55 A.M. By 2 A.M. Officer of the Day Rybalko noted that the fleet was in readiness to meet attack.
At about 3 A.M. or a little later the acoustic listening posts on the coast at Yevpatoriya and Sarych Cape reported the sound of airplane motors. Officer of the Day Rybalko checked with the Fleet Air Command and the Air Force. No Soviet planes were in the air. Lieutenant I. S. Zhilin of the Antiaircraft Command telephoned, asking permission to open fire at “unknown planes.”
Rybalko called the fleet commander, Admiral Oktyabrsky.
“Are any of our planes in the air?” Oktyabrsky asked.
Rybalko replied: “No, none of our planes.”
“Bear in mind that if there is a single plane of ours in the air you will be shot tomorrow,” Oktyabrsky rejoined.
“Comrade Commander,” Rybalko persisted, “may we have permission to open fire?”
“Act according to your orders,” snapped Oktyabrsky.
Rybalko turned to Vice Admiral Eliseyev. The answer was so equivocal the young officer did not know what to do.
“What answer shall I give Zhilin?” Rybalko asked.
“Give him orders to open fire,” Eliseyev said decisively.
“Open fire,” Rybalko told Zhilin.
Zhilin understood the personal risks of such action.
“Bear in mind,” he said, “that you are taking full responsibility for this order. I am putting this note into my operations journal.”
“Write what you want,” shouted Rybalko, “but open fire on those planes.”
Almost without interval the roar of planes approaching Sevastopol at low altitude was heard, followed by the chatter of antiaircraft guns, the whine of bombs, the searing stab of powerful searchlights. Planes began to fall in flames. Battery No. 59 brought down the first. The crash of bombs rumbled over the harbor.
It was now some time after 3 A.M. , Sunday, June 22.
By 3 A.M. in Moscow Admiral Kuznetsov had stretched out on a leather divan in the corner of his office. He could not sleep. He kept thinking of the fleets, of what might be in progress. He had great difficulty in keeping from picking up the telephone and again calling Admiral Tributs for it was the Baltic Fleet that gave him the gravest concern.
However, he managed to restrain himself by repeating Moltke’s aphorism that once you have given the order for mobilization there is nothing to do but go to sleep for now the machine is working on its own. But he could get no sleep.
A strident ring from the telephone brought him to his feet. It was now fully light.
He lifted the receiver.
“The Commander of the Black Sea Fleet is reporting.”
Kuznetsov knew from Oktyabrsky’s excited voice that something unusual had happened.
“An air attack is being carried out on Sevastopol,” Oktyabrsky gasped. “Our antiaircraft guns are beating off enemy planes. Some bombs have fallen in the city. . . .”
Kuznetsov looked at his