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Subject: {ASSM} An Interview With Gorshin (Part 15 Final) By Katzmarek (War, Hist, Rom)
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<1st attachment, "An Interview With Gorshin15.txt" begin>

AN INTERVIEW WITH GORSHIN (Part 15)

   By KATZMAREK(C)

   The time was August 1942 and the Great Patriotic War was a year old. 
Admiral Gorshin stood contemplating the sea from the dockside at Murmansk.
Beside him was Commander Neville Callender of the Royal Navy, his Liaison
Officer and assistant.

   "The ice will be early this year, don't you think, Admiral?" the younger
British Officer asked the Admiral in clear, crisp, Russian.

   "I do, Commander, and I think we'll be lucky to see any more convoys
beyond the end of the month."

   "How's your bunker oil at the moment?" asked the Englishman.

   "Perhaps enough for some limited operations as far as Kirkenes?  Why do
you ask?"

   "The Shell Athol might have a bit to spare?" the Commander dropped his
voice as if the crates on the wharf contained spies.

   "Won't your Ministry notice a few hundred tons missing?  Why would you
do this?"

   "I know your situation, Admiral.  I realise you can only do so much
with..."

   "With Stalin rationing our oil, Commander?  C'mon, you know me well
enough to know that such talk no-longer frightens me.  Can you spare some
Diesel?  Those big K boats of ours gobble the stuff."

   "Possibly.  I'll make some enquiries." The Admiral nodded and continued
to look out to sea.

   A young Russian Officer in a long dark blue greatcoat and fur hat
marched smartly up to the pair and saluted.  He paused respectfully until
the Admiral turned around.

   "What is it?" the Admiral asked.

   "Message, sir, from the convoy."

   "Read it to me, Lieutenant."

   "Sir!" he pulled the paper from his pocket and brandished it with a
flourish.  "Message reads; 'SS Stormont Castle to ComEsFor, AAA, 69' 20"
North by..."

   "Good God, Commander, haven't your merchant ships heard of radio
discipline?  Every U Boat, every Bomber, will be down on the silly fucker
within hours."

   "It sounds like they're down on the poor bastard already, Admiral. 
'AAA' means they're being attacked by aircraft."

   "Lieutenant, pass the message to Air Operations, for all the good it
will do.  Ask them if they can get something into the air to see what's
going on."

   "Sir!" the Lieutenant saluted smartly and marched away.

   "Have you anything out there?" asked the English Officer, concern in his
voice.

   "K117 is operating in the area between Kirkenes and Bear Island.  I'll
see if they're on the surface, but I doubt they'll be in a position to
assist.  In any case, what can a submarine do against aircraft?  I'll send
the standing patrol, but I doubt they'll be anywhere near that position
before it's all over."

   "Well, perhaps they might find a few survivors, Admiral?"

   "Yes, I'm sorry, Neville.  It's tough being a spectator...  to have
nothing to do while seamen are out there fighting for their lives.  Knowing
that in 8 minutes a sailor in the water is dead.  Knowing we lack the
resources to take the Germans on.  No long range fighter aircraft, no
bombers to take out their airfields, no oil for our Destroyers, no
Battleships or Heavy Cruisers to deal with the German surface raiders..."

   "Come, Admiral, everyone understands your position."

   "Perhaps, but I find it difficult to look those poor seamen in the eye.
I feel they blame me for every bomb, every torpedo..."

   "Yes, I get an earful from them as well."

   "Perhaps we should introduce ourselves to a bottle of Vodka and discuss
how we're to steal some fuel for my ships?"

   "Excellent suggestion, Admiral!"

   --------------------------------------

   When Yvgeny arrived at Murmansk he found the Northern Fleet, or what it
was then being called, the Arctic Flotilla, severely run down.  It had no
heavy ships, and just seven Novik class destroyers.  16 Submarines were on
the inventory, but 5 of these were antiques used for training.  A further
sixteen 700 ton Escort ships of the Uraga class rounded off the list of
effective warships.  There were no aircraft at all except the Government
mailplane.

   He found his boss, Admiral Golovko, an amiable character but he had what
Yvgeny described as 'the Stalin twitch.' He was so terrified of the Party
Chairman that he refused to do anything without express approval from
Moscow.

   This meant, sadly, nothing at all, for Stalin was not interested in the
Navy.  The Red Army had priority over everything and the Navy had to beg
for even the smallest item.  When Allied convoys began to arrive at
Murmansk, Britain used aid as a lever to force Stalin to increase Northern
Naval Defences.  German U Boats and aircraft had free rein in Northern
waters and the overstretched escort vessels of the Royal Navy found it hard
to compete.

   Britain donated 8 of her 'Town' class Destroyers.  These were some of
the 50 American 'four pipers' that Roosevelt lent to the Royal Navy in
1940. They were old and unsuitable as anti-submarine vessels. 
Nevertheless, the British ripped out half their boilers, and two of their
four 'pipes', and bolted on a few 20mm anti-aircraft guns.  Their bridges
were fully enclosed and the foc'sles raised to cope with the extreme
weather in the Barents sea.

   Gorshin regarded them only as a stop gap, but, he found them better sea
boats than Russia's own Noviks.  These big, 2,500 ton, destroyers were
over-gunned and top heavy, in the Admiral's opinion.  Based on Italian
designs, they were nominally fast but too lightly built.  Their
'superfiring'# main turrets made the superstructure too high and heavy for
the narrow hull.  Consequently they rolled heavily in the pounding Barents
swell.

   #(One turret on the maindeck and one a deck higher firing over the top
of it)

   The Admiral preferred to use the smaller Uragas for regular patrols. 
They had the added benefit of being more economical to operate.

   All the Russian ships had reinforced hulls and steam heating throughout.
Steam pipes ran along just under the decks to prevent ice forming.  The
rigging and superstructure were kept free of ice by seamen with flexible
hoses blasting hot water from high-speed pumps.  The heavy ice forming on
the deck of a vessel had been responsible for capsizing more then a few
ships and Yvgeny was surprised to see British ships arriving looking like
moving icebergs.

   Yvgeny acquired responsibility for the Arctic Flotilla's submarines. 
Golovko was fond of delegating, a technique, Yvgeny believed, to avoid
taking responsibility for anything.  He found, though, that the Sub
squadron's Commander, Rear Admiral Bulyanin, was an experienced and capable
Officer.  Just as well, as Gorshin's lifelong claustrophobia caused him to
detest Submarines with a passion.

   -----------------------------------------

   "Bulyanin, the scheming arsehole, insisted I go for a short voyage in
one of the damned things," Gorshin recalled, "only he picks the smallest
one in the fleet, a little 'M' class.  He said it would be good for morale,
the lying bastard," he chuckled.  "Once in the control room, I had all
these hardened 'mudsharks', that's what we called the Submariners, looking
at me and saying to themselves, 'ok, bigshot Admiral Gorshin, let's see
what you're made of!'"

   "Could I admit to these men that I was terrified?  Here's me shedding
rivers of sweat and pissing my pants and this smartarse Lieutenant, half my
age, says, 'shall we go down now, Admiral Sir?' He was looking straight
into my eyes, watching if I was going to blink, and I say to myself,
'steady, Gorshin old boy, you've survived the Japanese at Tsushima. 
They're only going to take you for a little paddle in the Arctic.'"

   "'Secure hatches,' he says, 'blow forward and aft tanks, down planes 45
degrees.' The boat lurches, I can hear the swishing of the water moving
over the hull.  The metal walls seemed so thin, all that stops tons of
freezing water from snuffing out our lives.  I'm shivering and sweating all
at once.  I mop my brow, hoping the crew don't notice my distress.  I try
to move my feet but they remain welded to the deck.  'Stop engine, secure
exhaust valve, start motors, 30 revolutions, Engineer, up scope, do you
want to have a look, Admiral, sir?'"

   "The Skipper motioned me over to the periscope, but I was unable to
move. 'Thank you, no, Lieutenant, I wish to observe the control room,' I
tell him and he smiles and peers through the scope himself.  I then look
around me as if I'm inspecting the actions of the control room staff.  In
15 minutes we go up again and they open the hatch above us.  I watch the
circle of blue sky, feel the cool draft on my face...  then bolt for the
ladder."

   "I remained on the conning tower all the way back to dock.  No way were
they going to persuade me to go back below.  I told them I wished to
observe the way the boat cuts through the sea, and they accepted that. 
Rank carries some privileges, I suppose, but I made sure I never set foot
on a Submarine again."

   "I didn't speak to Bulyanin for weeks, afterwards."

   ------------------------------------------

   When Katka arrived at Murmansk, Yvgeny was concerned about the look of
her.  Painfully thin, she seemed to have aged and had acquired a cough.

   She joined the Naval Auxiliary and Yvgeny conspired to have her posted
to his department.  There she reorganised the filing system, even though
Yvgeny was already highly organised.  He believed all Destroyer men were
tidy as there was little spare room for mess.

   At least Yvgeny was able to keep watch on her.  Katka was apt to skip
meals.  She and Yvgeny had offered their children to the armed forces, and
the Admiral knew she constantly feared for each of them, every hour of the
day.

   Rolf, the youngest, was a pilot with the AV-VMF, based not far away at
Polyarnyy.  Mika, the next up, elected for the Red Army's Air Force, the
VVS.  He now had a squadron of Il2 'sturmaviki' somewhere on the Southern
Front.  Two daughters were in the Army and their remaining two sons both
served in the same Tank Battalion.

   Katka seized on every letter from them.  It buoyed her for days
afterwards and she would tell Yvgeny excitedly about the latest news, often
repeating the letter over and over.  Yvgeny worried that the stress was
killing her.

   ------------------------------------------

   Kronshtadt, nearby Leningrad and the extensive shipyards on the lower
Neva had been heavily attacked by German Dive Bombers in the first few days
of the war.  Losses among the Baltic fleet had been heavy, particularly the
larger vessels.  German air superiority, and Stalin's lack of interest,
confined the fleet to the role of floating batteries for the defense of
Russia's second city.

   Naval Battalions were formed out of the unemployed crews and sent to the
front.  Unlike in Tsarist times, there were no mutinies.  By 1941, sailors
had learned to do what they were told without argument.

   The only exception was the Baltic Fleet's Submarine Flotillas.  The
workhorse, 'Shch' (Shchuka = pike) class Subs and the smaller 'M' (Malyutka
= marlin) class made the Baltic their own and mercilessly harried the
convoy traffic between Germany and Sweden.  Stalin was suitably impressed
by their efforts and began to talk of the postwar fleet being a submersible
one.

   -----------------------------------------

   "We gave two sons to the Motherland," Admiral Gorshin continued to the
young Ensign, "both on the same day, at the battle of Kursk.  Katka's heart
dimmed when she heard the news.  As if two candles were extinguished from
the flickering glow of her spirit.  I grieved for them myself, of course,
but no-one mourns like a Mother."

   "The incandescence of our love settled to a comforting warmth as we left
the war behind us.  I called it a day when peace was declared and we
retired to my dacha on the Black Sea.  She liked it there, and our
remaining children came to visit us with our Grandchildren.  The climate
revitilised Katka.  She had cancer, of course, but never told me till the
day she died.  She lived to a good age until it returned.  When she went, I
returned to Kronshtadt.  I couldn't stand the Black Sea without her."

   Admiral Gorshin stared for a long while at the empty bottle of vodka on
the table.  The interview had plainly exhausted him and his hovering
orderly suggested, pointedly, that it was time for him to rest.

   "Look at me," he suddenly said, "I'm 88 years old and I'm still being
pushed around by the Navy.  You're a fucking bully, Yvgeny," he told his
orderly.

   "I'm sorry, Great Grandfather, sir," replied the young man.

   -----------------------------------------------

   POSTSCRIPT

   Immediately following the end of the war in Europe the Trans-Siberian
Railway became a hive of activity.  Long trains steamed along it at
intervals of barely 20 minutes.  The wagons carried tons and tons of war
materiel, tanks, guns, aircraft, and thousands upon thousands of the
toughest, most experienced and battle-hardened soldiers.  The trains
disgorged their cargoes into the fertile Amur River region of Eastern
Siberia.

   Over 2000 T34 tanks rolled into the forests just North of the Chinese
border and waited.  Behind them, 1700 aircraft of all types were being
assembled at improvised airfields cut out of farmland by thousands of women
labourers.  This impressive airforce was spearheaded by the Ilyushin Il2m
Shturmavik ground assault aircraft.  Their 30mm cannons had blasted the
heart out of Hitler's armour some short months before.

   This massive army built to a force in excess of half a million men and
women.

   Across the border in China, the Japanese Manchurian Army was completely
unaware of the force gathering to the North.  But then, this was no-longer
the confident army that had stormed across that bridge near Peking in 1937.

   The army had been gutted of its most effective units as Tokyo searched
for more men to fling at the ever-costlier battles in the Pacific, at
Guadalcanal, the Philipines and more recently, Okinawa and Saipan.

   The Manchurian Army had no tanks, were chronically short of artillery,
automatic weapons, ammunition and transport.  They had fewer than 100
planes, and these were mostly discards, no-longer able to match the
American Navy's Grummans and Corsairs.  The powerful Lavochkin La7s and
Yakovlev Yak 9Ds of the VVS were going to have an easy time of it.

   As morning broke, the Japanese border posts were startled by the sudden
rumble of thousands upon thousand of engines.  All of a sudden, the sky
darkened as swarms of aircraft roared over their heads at treetop height.

   -------------------------------------------

   At the same time, far away on the other side of the World, a group of
men assembled at an apartment in the jumble of bombed-out ruins of
Kronshtadt Naval Base.  They all had white hair, some with beards, some
wore service uniforms and some, civilian clothes.  All stood erect, at
attention and listened with respect to the most senior of them, Admiral
Yvgeny Gorshin.

   "Gentleman, comrades," he began, "I'm not one for speeches, as you know,
so I'll be brief.  Today we are regaining our honour.  Today we are
bringing home our dead comrades and giving them a place at our table. 
Gentlemen, raise your glasses to the forgotten heroes of the great Battle
of Tsushima.  And it's a pity Togo is no-longer alive because I'd love to
kiss his sweet cheeks!" The men broke out in a roar of laughter and each
bolted down a glass of vodka.  With grand flourishes they threw their
glasses against the brick wall.

   An elderly man dressed in civilian clothes with a impressive chestfull
of medals caught Yvgeny's attention.

   "Pikalevoi," he cried excitedly, "it's good to see you!"

   "What's that on your lapel?" asked the old man, "a fucking Hero of the
Soviet Union?  Who did you have to screw?  What, you were Stalin's pimp or
something?"

   "That's treason!" laughed Yvgeny.

   "Fuck you!  So report me, everyone else has!"

   "What, they had you in the cage?"

   "Why bang up and old bastard like me?  The NKVD took one look at me and
laughed."

   Yvgeny put his arms around the old man, planted a kiss on each cheek,
and hugged him.  When they broke, both men had tears in their eyes.

   "You did good, my boy," Pikalevoi whispered to the Admiral.

   -------------------------------------------------

   Admiral Yvgeny Gorshin, Hero of the Soviet Union, Order of the Red
Banner, Order of Lenin (twice), Medal of Meritorious Service, Grand Cross
of Saint Andrew and dozens of other medals and awards conferred on him by
foreign Governments and a grateful Nation died on the 8th of June 1970. 
His wife, Katka, predeceased him by 6 years.

   Circumstances persuaded me not to publish this interview back in 1969.
Instead, I kept the tape in my private library.  Changes in Russia,
however, convinced me that such history cannot be buried.  It is perhaps
more important now that we allow ourselves to reflect on that history and
remind ourselves of that generation who selflessly dedicated themselves to
the preservation of this grand and ancient country.

   But Gorshin was a man not given to boasting.  He was modest, simple in
tastes and a loving husband and Father.  To him, life was an adventure, not
a solemn duty.

   Going over these notes, I realise that Gorshin knew he was dying.  He
wanted to leave this statement behind, not as a tribute to himself, but as
an expression of love for his beloved Katka.  It's a love story, rather
than a story of adventure.

   He lived long enough to tell his tale, then passed on to be with his
wife.

   He was buried next to Katka in the grounds of the dascha he shared with
her.  Present were his surviving children, Grandchildren and Great
Grandchildren.  Virtually all were wearing a uniform of the armed forces of
the Soviet Union.

   Later on, in compliance with his wishes, we flew in a Tupolev out over
the Straits of Tsushima.  At approximately the place where the Battleship
Alexander the Third capsized, we dropped a wreath and a small wooden box of
beautifully inlaid wood.  The box, given to the Admiral on the deck of the
Japanese Cruiser in Shanghai, contained letters, mementoes, a photo of
Admiral Togo and a note written by Admiral Gorshin to his friend, the Count
Khlodovsky.  It said, simply, 'thank you, my friend.'

   ANATOLY KOSCUISCO - PROFESSOR OF HISTORY

   THE GORSHIN LIBRARY - RUSSIAN NAVAL INSTITUTE

   PETRODVORETS - RUSSIAN FEDERATION

   1/4/2004

   -------------------------------------------

   NOTES

   About thirty years ago, my sister in law's Father came for a visit.  My
sister in law, knowing of my interest in History, thought we ought to hook
up.  The story he told blew me away.

   He, like many Germans of his generation, was correct and reserved in
manner.  He had enormous dignity, even during his description of very
emotional events.  He looked into the middle distance as he talked, and
hardly had eye contact with me at all.  He was quietly spoken and what he
said burned into my consciousness.

   He had fled with his family before the Red Army in 1944 from Schlesien,
now part of Poland.  His eldest daughter, Hildegard, was very sick on the
journey.  They had got no further then Czechoslovakia when the war ended.
Fearing that his daughter would shortly die if they didn't receive help, he
searched through the village for a doctor.  The doctor, though, told him
that he would only help by writing out the death certificate.

   In desperation, he went to a nearby encampment.  A motor rifle regiment
of a Soviet Marine division was billeted in a field.

   These guys were the toughest of the tough.  They had fought all the way
from Leningrad to Berlin and they considered themselves the best trained,
the elite of the Soviet Army.  Not for nothing did a guy earn his blue and
white striped vest.

   My sister in law's Father found a doctor, a guy called Yvgeny Khershin,
the regimental medic.  He gave him medicine and visited the sick girl every
day until she was able to travel once again.

   Now, conventional History tells us how Soviet tanks mowed down refugees
and troops stormed through Berlin murdering and raping as they went.  Some
of that is no-doubt true, but History rarely records the other side of the
story.  The little kindnesses meted out by sworn enemies to each other.

   I'm reminded that humanity is never the preserve of one side or the
other.  On the other side of the wall there's maybe someone just like us,
with the same hopes, fears, loves.

   And given the chance we might find that, beneath the ideological or
religious differences, there's actually more that binds us together than
pulls us apart.

   KATZMAREK

   --------------------------------------------

   THE BATTLE OF TSUSHIMA

   THE WARSHIP TECHNOLOGY

   Design follows theory and by the end of the 19th century Naval designers
were still trying to figure out how future naval battles were going to be
fought.  The only practice they'd had was the Battle of Lissa, way back in
the 1860s between the Austrians and the Italians.

   Lissa had been a bit of a fiasco, the Austrian Admiral Tegethoff had
prevailed more by good luck than good management.

   19th century innovations, the shell gun, revolving turrets, armour and
steam power threatened to re-write the rule book.  The European powers were
fixated with ramming for a while and battle tactics were developed so
'turret rams' could survive long enough to let water into an enemy.

   Far-sighted designers, such as William White of Great Britain, however,
saw this as a load of crap and designed a class of Battleship, the
'Admirals,' that set the standard right until 1905.

   His design was simple, two turrets, one fore and one aft, with two 12
inch guns each.  Two funnels, sometimes side by side, coal-fired, no sails,
squat hull with a waterline belt of armour.  As a nod to the past, like the
shrinking tail of the dinosaur, they all had 'ram bows', but these became
more of a fashion rather than a useful weapon.

   The French seemed obsessed with 'overtopping', a hangover from the days
of sailing Galleons when a taller vessel had the advantage of being able to
fire down on the deck of her opponent.  Their vessels had heavily built up
masts and superstructures, tall hulls with high commands for the guns. 
Because 'end on' fire seemed a useful idea, they placed heavy guns on
outriggers, called 'lozenges', on the sides so they could fire forward. 
This only makes sense if you intend to close an enemy, perhaps for ramming,
maybe in 'line abreast' like Mediterranean Galley warfare.



   This made French ships inherently top heavy and to compensate they
borrowed another idea from the days of Nelson, the 'tumblehome.' Their
hulls curved inwards so, from end on, they looked like light bulbs.  Their
turrets were squat so, to prevent the blast from their guns blowing off
their own foc'stles, they cut back the bows in an exaggerated fashion.  The
effect wasn't aesthetic and French ships were ugly, fussy, cramped,
over-complicated, and riddled with apertures and 'shot traps.' They also
took twice as long to build as British vessels of the period.

   Now, I'm not a dedicated anglophile, slavishly extolling the virtues of
superior British technology, but I have to say, they had the angle on this
one.  It's to the Russians' misfortune that they were compelled to turn to
the French for modern warship design at the end of the 19th century.

   Whatever the French did to the Russian Navy, the Germans truly sold the
Chinese a puppy.  They built a pair of coast defence ships for the Chinese
Navy, perhaps to prove the notion that charging an enemy head on was a bad
idea for a Battleship.  They had twin turrets side by side on the foredeck
so one masked the other while the ship was broadside on to the enemy. 
These ships were intended to fight line abreast.  This meant you limited
the freedom of movement of the vessels beside you, who could only speed up
or slow down.  The range gradually came down, sure, but you offered
yourself as cannon fodder to a fleet traditionally arrayed in line ahead.

   Togo did just that at the battle of the Yalu River, 1894, when he
pummelled the hapless Chinese fleet as they tried to close him in line
abreast.  The Chinese ships fouled each other as they tried to maneuvre and
quickly lost any cohesion.  I guess the Germans were finally satisfied the
idea of ramming in modern sea warfare was stupid, so went on to correct
their mistake.

   It's easy to take pot shots at the poor Russian Navy with the benefit of
hindsight.  They were, however, the first with modern innovations such as
electric lighting throughout the ship, a handy thing for an armoured
warship with few portholes to let in the sunlight.  They did have the best
and hardest hitting 12 inch gun on the market, the Oblukhov 60 cal.  And
they were keen to experiment with new ideas.

   This willingness was exemplified by the 'Popovkas'.  They were coast
defence ships with twin turrets, 6 funnels and minimal superstructure. 
What set them apart was the fact that they were completely round, like
manhole covers.  Unfortunately, they spun like tops in most sea conditions
except upriver with a fast current.  The Russians were trying to get to
grips with the notion of all round, 360 degree fire.  They did succeed with
the Admiral Popov, but alas the vessel was a failure as a warship.

   ------------------------------------

   THE BATTLE

   There's no doubt that Admiral Togo was the great Admiral of his day. 
With the dimming of Japanese militarism, however, it's easy to forget how
their traditions so assisted him in defeating the Russians.

   Bushido is erroneously thought to be the codification of the ancient
Samurai way of life, but it was formulated as late as the Meiji
restoration. Tradition has it that to attack an enemy unawares is sensible
and the onus is on the victim to never drop his guard.  To Togo, from a
long line of Samurai warriors, it was up to the Russians to remain alert to
the possibility of a surprise attack.

   Togo was willing, far more than Rhozdventsky, to accept heavy casualties
and so placed his armoured cruisers in the vulnerable position of the
battle line.  Rhozdventsky had the chance of turning on the rear of Togo's
fleet and wiping out Kamimura's cruisers.  Why didn't he?  Who knows?

   Why did Rhozdventsky encumber himself with a fleet of transports and
antique warships?  Why didn't he leave them behind at Camh Ranh Bay?  I've
tried to come to grips with these questions but, in reality, I can only
guess.

   It's easier to figure out why the Russian crews fell apart under the
intense fire of Togo's broadsides.  Ships, then, were designed to preserve
the ship, not the crews.  Men were still in exposed positions on the ships
of both fleets and shrapnel cut them down in their hundreds.  I ask myself,
would I be willing to work a secondary gun on the open deck of a ship of
those days while an enemy poured tons of high explosive and incendaries in
my direction?  I can only marvel at the courage of those men, be they
Japanese or Russian.
   KATZMAREK(C)

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