Beyond the Call (31 page)

On 12 April, bewildered and reluctant, Robert became the CO of Eastern Command. General Hill asked USSTAF to send a more experienced officer, but it never happened.
¹⁸
Into the lap of Robert Trimble, the humble captain who'd already had far more than he'd bargained for since leaving England, fell the task of repairing the diplomatic damage that his actions had helped to cause. If the Soviets were conscious of the irony of appointing the one man who had done more than any other to defy Soviet control in Poland, they never showed it.

As it turned out, Robert's first day in command was also very nearly his last.

F
ROM DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS
, 1,400 miles apart, two B-24 Liberators were heading toward Poltava. Both carried passengers who were important, but in very different ways. Both planes were scheduled to stop at Poltava for refueling before heading on again. One of them was destined to almost cause a diplomatic incident.

The American and Russian commands at Poltava had been notified of the arrival of the two planes. One was coming from Moscow; aboard were General Deane and General Hill, who were en route to the United States. The other was coming from Bari in Italy en route to Moscow, carrying a passenger whose identity was not disclosed.

Somehow, perhaps due to the shift of command, perhaps due to the strained relations between Americans and Soviets, and certainly due in part to the secrecy surrounding the Moscow-bound plane, wires were crossed, and nobody quite knew which of the two planes was coming in at which time. Eastern Command's officers were under the mistaken impression that the aircraft from Italy, heading for Moscow on a ‘special Soviet mission', was a B-17.
¹⁹

It was near lunchtime when the tower received word that a B-24 Liberator, call-sign 6E, serial 771, was approaching the field. Personnel who had been on standby were alerted. A ground crew and a refueling crew headed out to the hardstandings. The word spread that this was the Deane and Hill flight. Thoroughly accustomed to greeting planeloads of VIPs during the Yalta Conference, a reception committee of Russian and American officers hopped into jeeps and zoomed away down the road to the field. Among the party was brand-new commanding officer Captain Trimble. Robert wasn't at all accustomed to VIPs. Colonel Hampton, doing all he could to ease the transition, was accompanying him, and would take the strain of the occasion.

The heavens had decided to rain on Robert's first day. The snows had thawed, and Poltava was being steadily soaked by spattering showers. In the open jeeps the officers pulled their collars up and their hats down, and waited for the plane to arrive.

Robert wondered what was happening in Poland while he was greeting generals. How many Americans were still hiding out or rotting in Soviet holding camps? The grounding of American aircraft, still in force after two weeks, irritated and worried everyone, but to Robert it was profoundly frustrating and disturbing. He wondered where Isabelle was now, or little Kasia's mother. Beadle, Vergolina, Gould, McNeish – he knew they had reached freedom. Then there
were all those gaunt men, the hundreds whose names he couldn't recall (if he had ever known them) but whose faces lived in his memory, who had been put aboard the Odessa trains.

Had they made it? It was reported that Odessa was the one place where the Soviets were honoring their duty, but only because they were exchanging batches of Western ex-POWs for batches of their own.
²⁰
The fates of those repatriated Russians didn't even bear thinking about.

‘Here she comes,' said an officer sitting next to him, who was scanning the horizon. ‘Top brass, three o-clock level.'

The familiar silhouette of a B-24 was curving in to land. It touched down and taxied toward the hardstanding where the ground crews and reception committee were waiting. The officers got in line. To Robert and a few of the other airmen, something didn't look right about the aircraft. Normally a Moscow VIP like Deane would fly in
Becky
, Ambassador Harriman's passenger-converted Liberator. But the plane that was taxiing in front of the rain-soaked line-up was a combat B-24 with unit markings on her tail fins, a shark's mouth decorating her nose, and the name
Judith Ann
written on her fuselage. And unless those were just the empty cooling barrels protruding from the gun positions, she also appeared to be fully armed.

Judith Ann
rolled to a stop. The little parade of officers saluted and waved, a little uncertainly, and waited for the visitors to disembark and exchange polite greetings. The official photographer snapped a picture. The officers waited … and waited. Figures could be seen in the waist gun window, but nobody got out.

Robert, with no experience of the proper protocol, thought perhaps the generals were waiting for him to come and greet them. Whatever it was, as commanding officer he'd better investigate. He glanced at Colonel Hampton, who nodded.

At that moment, another jeep came racing across the field and drew up on the hardstanding. A group of Russian officers, looking like they meant serious business and all very conspicuously wearing pistols outside their greatcoats, jumped out and stood between
Judith
Ann
and the reception committee.
²¹
Robert walked toward the plane, but his way was barred by one of the Russians.

‘Instructions from General Kovalev,' said the Russian officer. ‘No American personnel are to approach this airplane. It is engaged in a special Soviet mission. Refueling only is permitted. Please instruct your fuel men to begin their work. All other personnel are required to leave, please.'

This must be the plane from Italy en route to Moscow. But why would a combat B-24 from a group down in Italy be engaged in special missions for the Soviets? Given all the US combat aircraft that had been salvaged and stolen by them, the arrival of this one now was deeply suspicious.

‘This is an American AAF aircraft,' said Robert. ‘All American aircraft at this base are the responsibility of Eastern Command. I'm going to inspect it.'

He went to pass the Russian officer, who barred his way again.

Robert, his hackles rising, tried again. ‘As of today, I am the commanding officer here. All US aircraft landing at this base are subject to my clearance. I demand to know the full schedule and purpose of this aircraft.'

He glanced at the pistols on the Russians' belts, and at the cold stares they were directing toward him. He was acutely conscious of the tension that had set Poltava on pins during the past two weeks, and even more conscious that he might be about to whip the tension into a crisis, but there was something going on here that stank. Bracing himself, he pushed past the Russian officer, ducked under the tail of the aircraft, and pulled open the access door.

Expecting the plane to be full of Russians, he was surprised to find himself staring at a group of startled American officers, including two immaculate Military Police captains. They sat on makeshift seats, and sandwiched between them was a disheveled, anxious-looking man wearing what appeared to be the uniform of a Soviet officer. His wrists were handcuffed. There were two other officers in the crowded waist section of the plane, a major and a colonel. Suddenly Robert felt very outranked.

‘I'm Captain Robert Trimble, officer commanding Eastern Command. What is the purpose and schedule of this flight?' The officers glanced at each other and raised a skeptical eyebrow at his claim to be the CO, but said nothing. ‘This aircraft is not to proceed without my clearance. I'm not about to grant clearance to an aircraft that I believe to be suspicious.'

‘This is an approved flight to Moscow,' said the colonel. Despite his American uniform, he had traces of Russian in his accent. ‘It has been authorized in advance by the Military Mission, Eastern Command, and the Soviet authorities.'

Robert looked at the handcuffed man again, and at last he understood – Italy, Moscow, a Russian officer … This must be the man the rumors had spoken of – the Russian captain who claimed to be American, who'd got himself flown from Hungary to Italy in a bid to escape. Shenderoff, Captain Shenderoff. So they'd decided to hand the poor guy over to the Russians, had they? Not if Robert Trimble could do anything about it. The Soviets weren't the only ones who could be obstinate.

‘It hasn't been authorized by me,' he said. He stepped past the colonel and squeezed along the narrow walkway through the bomb bay, heading for the front of the plane. (He'd forgotten how tight it was getting from one end of a Lib to the other.) In the radio compartment behind the cockpit, he took a headset from the operator and ignored the stares of the pilots.

‘Tower, this is Trimble; I've got a B-24 here with no schedule and what looks like a Russian political prisoner on board. First, I want you to make clear to the Russians that this flight is not clear for take-off unless they fully disclose its purpose …'

‘Sir—'

‘Second, get Moscow on the horn immediately, relay the situation, and put them through to me.'

‘Sir, is that B-24 number 49771, with er, lemme see … a shark mouth paint job, yellow cowls, and checkerboard tail with black diamond?'
²²

‘That's the one.'

‘Sir, the Soviets have already cleared this flight, and we've had authorization from Moscow, no questions to be asked. We have to clear it.'

Robert stood with the headset against his ear, wondering what to do next. Did he dare defy Moscow? In the silence that followed, he heard a hubbub of voices from the back of the plane, speaking Russian. General Kovalev himself had arrived on the scene and was loudly demanding to know what was going on.

Kovalev was a small man with Asian eyes and a bald head, an exquisite manner and a permanent retinue of pretty female interpreters. He adored parties and, during the heyday of Eastern Command, had been an enthusiastic participant in officers' club dances – drinking, dancing, and laughing the night away.
²³

He wasn't laughing now. General Kovalev believed himself to be a man at the leading edge of a country about to go to war with its principal ally, and he was liable to explode at the slightest provocation. Nonetheless, he had been ordered by Marshal Stalin to dial down the antagonism in his handling of the Americans.
²⁴
His heavy jaw was set, and he glared at this young captain who had dared to interfere with a secret Soviet mission ordered by Moscow.

‘What is happening here?' he asked.

Again, but with less conviction, Robert stated his refusal to clear the flight. Kovalev took in the situation and understood immediately. ‘Captain, I see what you are attempting to do, but your actions are ill-advised. If you leave this airplane now, this incident will not be reported.' Robert noticed Colonel Hampton at the doorway, gesturing at him to come out. He glanced at the handcuffed prisoner. ‘I assure you,' said Kovalev, ‘this man will receive justice. Now please leave.'

Robert was reminded of the Soviet officer at Rostov, assuring him that the stowaway boy would ‘get his wish'. He could still hear the gunshot.

There was nothing he could do. He was outranked and outnumbered ten times over. Obeying Hampton's urgent beckoning, he
disembarked from the plane, defeated and ashamed. The door was slammed shut, and Captain Shenderoff's fate was sealed.

The reason for Kovalev's sudden appearance became clear when a second B-24 was seen taxiing in from the runway. This was
Becky
, the VIP transport from Moscow. The plane drew up on the hardstanding next to
Judith Ann
and halted. Here at last were the brass.

Still in a daze, Captain Trimble helped Colonel Hampton greet the generals. It was hard to tell Deane and Hill apart physically: similar height, similar build, dressed in identical raincoats. Blunt-featured, Major General Edmund W. Hill looked more like a cop than a general. His roots were in the pioneering spirit of the early aviators; he'd served in the infantry in World War I and later became an airman, with an amateur passion for airship and balloon piloting (his 1928 sporting license was signed by Orville Wright himself).
²⁵
Now he was the go-to man for contact with the OSS. Major General John R. Deane, on the other hand, looked exactly like the smooth military politician he was. As Robert was introduced to them by Colonel Hampton, it didn't occur to him that gathered here were the only three men in Russia – Hampton, Hill, and Deane – who had known all about his covert mission.

They were in an upbeat mood, and Hampton pulled out all the stops to warm Hill and Deane's welcome. They noticed the B-24 parked nearby, but made no comment. Although General Deane knew exactly who was aboard, even down to the composition of the crew, he didn't acknowledge it.
²⁶

The generals and the reception committee drove back to the headquarters site, leaving the ground crews to check and fuel up the two aircraft. The official photographer lingered for a while, taking pictures. He had no idea what had gone on with the two planes and had missed the actual arrival of the generals.
²⁷
Soon he too departed the scene. Sealed inside
Judith Ann
, the crew, the passengers, and their prisoner waited.