Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) (65 page)

“OK, Lieutenant. You sold me. I’m gonna get this up the line. Good work, boys, damn good work.”

Lieutenant General James Doolittle had been up and working since five, and had decided to take advantage of the lovely morning and take a mind-clearing walk by the River Seine, which ran through the bottom of the extensive gardens surrounding the Chateau de Foulze.

His aide hunted him down there, and produced a document set that had travelled through the night from an airbase at Bad Nauheim.

Gesturing his aide to take a seat, Doolittle examined the report and the photographs, seeing exactly the picture that the Colonel’s words were trying to paint.

“Hot damn. You read this, Sam?”

Samuel Greenberg had, and was as excited as Doolittle.

“Sam, by God but we’re gonna hit this place, but not yet. If this is a policy change by the Commies, I want another appreciation done, actually a hell of a lot of ‘em… looking at potential sites where the fuckers might’ve pulled this on us elsewhere. If this is a change, we’ll get the all we can find in one hit.”

Mind clear and focussed, Doolittle led off at high speed, keen to get the orders out.

Two days later, the Allies had identified a possible four additional locations where a similar ploy might have been used.

The five missions were all aimed at targets near large civilian life risks, or camps such as Birkenau, calling for precision strikes, rather than brutal area bombing.

The Soviets actually only had four such sites, and were relying on maskirovka to keep them safe.

By midday on the 11th August, four fuel storage sites and a large field hospital were destroyed by Martin Marauders and Mosquitoes from the RAF, USAAF, and the Armee de L’Air.

Had the planners and crews understood the full ramifications of what they had achieved, they would have celebrated into the next month, rather than the next day.

The four senior officers were enjoying a lighter moment, sampling the local pastries and enjoying tea in the sunshine of an idyllic summer’s afternoon.

Malinin regaled Nazarbayeva with stories of how the Germans once kept bears in the castle’s moat, whilst Vasilevsky contented himself with humming one of his favourite folk songs, in between bites of a nameless but delicious sugar coated something.

Tarasov, the recently appointed CoS of the RBFSE, simply enjoyed the sun.

Their sojourn was disturbed by the noisy arrival of Atalin, Zhukov’s loyal Colonel, bearing a report of great significance.

“Comrade Marshal… Comrade Marshal…”

Vasilevsky broke out of his idyll.

“Polkovnik Atalin. Is it some news from Comrade Zhukov?”

Atalin enjoyed Zhukov’s complete trust, and was often used on sensitive missions, such as the one he had recently discharged by bringing Vasilevsky a private letter from the ailing Marshal.

“No, Comrade Marshal. It has come from your communications officer. I said I would deliver it to you in person.”

He handed over the sheaf of papers.

Vasilevsky’s face went white as he read each in turn, attracting the full attention of those around him.

“Thank you, Comrade Atalin. Please, prepare yourself to fly out to Moscow almost immediately. Get some food inside you. There will be little time for rest from now on.”

The Marshal stood and acknowledged Atalin’s salute.

“Comrades, with me.”

He strode off towards his office, increasing his speed with every step, his face going from white to thunderous as the implications of the latest reports bored further into his thoughts.

“All of it?”

“All of it.”

“Job tvoju mat!”

Vasilevsky would normally have smiled at the woman’s outburst, but there was precious little for the commander in chief of a crippled and immobilised army to laugh about.

He turned to Tarasov and rattled off some requirements.

‘Fuel state of operational armies and fronts.’

‘Fuel reserve held locally by each front.’

‘Fuel marked as ‘in transit’ and not allocated.’

‘STAVKA fuel reserve.’

‘Fuel awaiting delivery to RBFSE.’

‘Fuel consumption minimums for the army.’

‘Anticipated fuel available from the Motherland over the next two weeks.’

Nazarbayeva watched as Malinin made some rough notes, summoning figures from the deeper recesses of his mind.

Tarasov departed at speed to seek out the information his commander in chief required, save the existing fuel stocks, which Malinin relayed from his notes.

“Comrade Marshal, from memory I believe that 1st Baltic last held 0.6 stocks at local level, 1st Red Banner 0.3, 2nd 0.6, 3rd 0.7, 1st Southern 0.8, and 1st Alpine was 1.2. All front reserves were at 0.5 as of yesterday evening.”

Vasilevsky nodded, knowing that Malinin’s recollections were probably good enough, but that a military front with a stock of 0.3 refills of its vehicles was as close to unable to properly manoeuvre as it could get under present circumstances.

“And of course, Comrade Marshal, that does not account for the inevitable losses that will come from enemy activity.”

“You bring joy, as ever, Comrade Malinin. STAVKA reserve… we must have some of that released.”

Nazarbayeva, horrified that Vasilevsky did not know what she knew, had her own bad news to add.

“Comrade Marshal, I can tell you that STAVKA reserve is virtually non-existent.”

Vasilevsky closed his eyes, hoping that he had misheard the shocking news, but could not avoid asking the question.

“Explain please, Comrade Nazarbayeva.”

“I’ve made an error, Comrade Marshal. I thought you would know? I am… err… aware that STAVKA fuel reserves have been denuded to enhance the supply to the front, in order to maintain reasonable supplies for your intended operations against the Amerikanski forces.”

He sensed there was more, and there was.

“I’m also informed, by a very reliable source, that projections for output from our new sources are very much at the optimistic end, and that we should expect some delays before any reasonable flow is achieved, and then it will most likely be no more than 60% of what has been claimed, at least for the foreseeable future.”

NKVD second in command Kaganovich had shared the gloomy revision with Nazarbayeva during their last meeting, amongst other snippets, confirming that a number of things were not as they seemed to be.

Vasilevsky stood up, and the room’s occupants automatically came to attention.

He walked to the situation map, a smaller version of the main operations room map, but as up to date.

The silence was broken by a cursory knock and the entrance of Tarasov.

“Comrade Marshal. These are a quick set of initial figures. I have my men working on a definite set, but these should be reasonably accurate enough for you to see the situation.”

The Marshal accepted the swiftly typed document, and consumed the information without comments on the typing errors.

No errors could hide the enormity of the problem that leapt off the page, and he expressed himself like a peasant.

“Job tvoju mat!”

He passed the paper to Malinin.

The normally calm and collected officer simply drained of colour and re-read the damming figures.

Vasilevsky stuck out his hand, seeking to look again, hoping to find some crumb of comfort.

There was none.

“I must travel to Moscow as soon as possible. Comrade Tarasov, I want firm figures within the hour. Comrade Nazarbayeva, I would ask you to accompany me with your own latest reports. Comrade Malinin, we must conserve our resources as much as possible. You know what needs to be done. I’ll leave it all in your capable hands.”

Malinin nodded, understanding the mission Vasilevsky was about to undertake.

“Comrade Marshal…”

“Mikhail Sergeyevich. The army is my responsibility. This mission is my responsibility. Your orders are to preserve the army until such time as we have the means to resume the fight properly.”

Nazarbayeva was shocked to hear the words, even though she had grasped the implications of the Allied bombing missions.

“Comrade Marshal… you mean that you will recommend abandoning our offensive against the Americans? Resorting to defence only?”

He looked at the GRU General with sad eyes.

“No, Comrade Nazarbayeva. I will recommend that, in order to preserve the Red Army, we find a political settlement at the earliest possible opportunity.”

When you have got an elephant by the hind legs and he is trying to run away, it's best to let him run.

Abraham Lincoln

The meeting had been organised for the lavish surroundings of the Andreyevsky Hall, for no reason other than the normal meeting places were either being redecorated following a small but damaging fire, or were unsuited for the larger gathering that had been brought together for a purpose now defunct, as Vasilevsky’s arrival and insistence on a meeting with the GKO had made all other matters irrelevant.

The absence of the big metal detectors meant that each officer was subjected to the most thorough search, although the guard commander had ensured that a female officer was present to search Nazarbayeva, something she did with female reserve and genuine respect, all down to apologising for having to remove Nazarbayeva’s boots.

Inside the portion of the hall set aside for the briefing, two of the commander-in-chief’s staff, both volunteers who understood the risk, had set up the presentation, as directed by their leader.

Zhukov had been briefed within an hour of Vasilevsky’s arrival at Vnukovo airfield, but, by agreement, would remain silent.

Beria had been unable to supply Stalin with the precise nature of what had exercised Vasilevsky so much, and could only offer up the recent enemy air attacks of fuel depots, or the German penetration, as possible reasons for the hasty arrangements.

When the commander of the Red Banner Forces of Soviet Europe gave his presentation, he quickly covered the situation at the front, painting it as it was, without frills, and without exaggeration, something that all noticed, and something that all felt augured badly for what was to come.

“Comrades, whatever the situation we face at the front, and in our echelons, and rear lines… and even into the Rodina herself… the situation that presented itself to me yesterday has brought about the most terrible harm to the Motherland’s cause.”

He turned to the elderly Colonel and nodded.

The man, one useless arm tucked in his pocket, whisked the cover away and the ensemble were confronted by a map, simple in its notations.

Vasilevsky took a sly look at Zhukov, who remained impassive, but silently wished the condemned man well.

“Acting on the decision by STAVKA, we centralised our major fuel resources in four well-disguised locations, fit to service the battle fronts in Europe.”

He extracted a file, a copy of which was being distributed by his second assistant, a Major whose two sons lay long dead on the battlefield of Kursk.

Stalin’s eyes never left Vasilevsky, seemingly unaware of the document offered up to him.

Beria took it for him, and placed it gently in front of the pre-occupied dictator.

“Comrades, you will see from this file that my responsible senior officers discharged their orders to the fullest extent, and exceeded the standards set within the STAVKA order. The standards were rigorously checked, and diligent security was provided by significant forces provided by NKVD Leytenant General Dustov.”

Vasilevsky took a sip of water to ease his rapidly drying throat.

“As directed, we created these facilities adjacent to large well-known sites, but in secret, and under heavy camouflage. We avoided direct support from AA units, in order to not draw suspicion on the areas.”

“I concentrated virtually my entire frontal fuel reserve within these four facilities.”

The dawn of realisation started to spread in the minds of the more able members present.

“Comrades, I regret to inform you that yesterday afternoon… American, British, and German aircraft destroyed virtually the entire fuel reserve of the Red Banner Forces of Soviet Europe, leaving me only with the fuel held at Front Level, and any fuel in transit, minus wastage that will inevitably accrued, given the Allied mastery of the air.”

Vasilevsky suddenly realised that no one was looking at him.

All eyes were on Stalin, whose eyes were very firmly burning with anger.

“What’s this? WHAT… IS… THIS? You’re given simple instructions and fail to carry them out, and all of a sudden it’s the fault of STAVKA?”

Vasilevsky looked at Zhukov for support, and remembered that there would be none coming.

“No, Comrade General Secretary. The reasoning was sound. Our air assets were able to concentrate for interceptions without drawing attention to the locations, as was predicted. Distribution from those sites that were fully established and operational was excellent, and losses in fuel supplies due to fixed site attacks dropped dramatically.”

“And yet they were attacked, Vasilevsky… destroyed!”

“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.”

“How can this be….eh... how can this have happened if you and your fucking officers were so fucking brilliant… so fucking diligent at discharging STAVKA’s fucking orders!”

“We do not know… I do not know, Comrade General Secretary. There must have been a flaw in the execution… some security lapse… but all four were struck within ten minutes of each other… plus there was an attack on a medical facility… one that was a mirror of the other attacks… so I believe that they thought it was also a fuel depot… which makes me think that there was an error that they spotted with all five sites.”

“So, an error with your efforts to discharge the orders of STAVKA?”

“The troops undertook the orders to the letter. The NKVD inspection teams found nothing to fault at all four fuel sites…nothing, Comrade General Secretary.”

“And yet, the fuel the Motherland entrusted to you is no more, Comrade Marshal.”

“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.”

“Comrade Beria, do you have these inspection reports to hand?”

Of course, Beria did and produced them from his briefcase.

They supported Vasilevsky’s assertion as to the excellence of the entire projects.

Stalin gave them a cursory look and almost tossed them back to the silent Beria.

“So, Comrade Marshal. You’ve managed to lose the fuel for your army. Have you come here to propose an end to offensive action?”

“No, Comrade General Secretary.”

“No?”

“I’ve come here to propose much, much more.”

A murderous silence stilled everything in the room. Even the grandfather clock seemed reluctant to tick in the presence of such violent, quiet anger.

Stalin drained the last of his chilled orange juice, produced a cigarette, and lit it, all with the gusto of a silent screen actor… combined with the focus and concentration of an executioner.

Those watching and listening held their collective breath.

Beria saw the opportunity and pounced immediately.

“Comrade General Secretary… perhaps we should hear from the GRU on this matter, as Comrade Nazarbayeva is well-placed to be able to comment on the situation.”

It was not intended as a snub to Vasilevsky, but that didn’t stop the Marshal seeing it as such, and a real enemy was made.

“Indeed. Comrade Nazarbayeva. The GRU’s position on events?”

“Comrade General Secretary, I can only agree the figures as stated by Comrade Marshal Vasilevsky. The fuel situation is grave beyond comprehension. What seemed like a good idea has not proven to be so, and the army is now crippled because of it.”

Vasilevsky tried to interrupt but was cut short by the angry Stalin.

“Shut up… Comrade Nazarbayeva, your accusation against STAVKA aside, is there any indication from the enemy regarding attacks, reactions to our own efforts, or anything at all to support the Marshal’s notion of cancelling any offensive action, retreat, or whatever it is he intends to recommend… shut up!”

His hand shot out, emphasising his words, as Vasilevsky again tried to speak.

“Comrade General Secretary, I do not know what Comrade Marshal Vasilevsky intends to suggest to the GKO. I am not privy to his inner thoughts.”

Usually correct but, in this instance, it was a lie, as she had been party to the discussions in Vasilevsky’s office.

The brief silence decided Beria, and he helped her along the path of self-destruction.

“So what would you suggest then, Comrade Nazarbayeva.”

Stalin turned to chew lumps off the head of the NKVD for interrupting, but stopped himself and, wishing to hear the reply, turned back to the woman GRU officer.

“Speak, Comrade Nazarbayeva. You should know that I will listen to views honestly given in the service of the party and the Motherland.”

No one present was under any illusions that some views were simply too honest to deliver… and live.

“Comrade General Secretary, I’m not a strategist like the Marshal or yourself, but the matter seems clear as clear can be to me.”

Stalin laughed, and a few other dry throats joined in, more out of nerves than appreciating the humour that Stalin had found in her words.

“Then please, Comrade Nazarbayeva, make it all clear for me… for us…”

He waved his hand over the assembly, neatly depositing a large lump of ash on Beria’s tunic.

“Comrade General Secretary.”

She turned to Vasilevsky.

“Comrade Marshal, do you have the figures on fuel stocks held ready for review?”

He nodded, first to her, and then to the major, who dragged a cover off a display stand.

Vasilevsky spoke slowly and evenly.

“Comrade General Secretary, these figures represent the last fuel available to the Red Banner Forces, from those held at battalion level, all the way to Front stocks.”

Stalin nodded and returned his gaze to Nazarbayeva, ignoring the figures on the display.

She thumbed through her own folder, as those who needed them reached for their glasses.

All absorbed the awfulness of the figures in front of them.

“Red Banner Forces, in the person of Marshal Vasilevsky, had no reason other than to assume that the STAVKA fuel stocks had been maintained at the stated combat levels. I was previously aware, and reported this problem to him on Friday evening during a senior officers meeting. At that time, regretfully, I informed Marshal Vasilevsky that that is not the case, and that STAVKA fuel reserves have been slowly fed into the main supply system, denuding stocks to a critical level.”

“A critical level means what… in layman’s terms, Comrade?”

Stalin’s voice showed a strain previously undetected, hidden as it was, by white-hot anger.

“Comrade General Secretary… STAVKA stocks are presently at 8% of combat norms, to plus or minus 1%.”

“Go on, Comrade.”

Vasilevsky piped up quickly, and was as surprised as everyone else that Stalin didn’t stop him in his tracks.

“The situation is dire, Comrades. The worst the Red Army has faced since the Revolution. The resolution may be unpalatable, but I can see no alternative, unless the wisdom and acumen of this assembly can find a resolution not obvious to this old soldier.”

Stalin held up his hand, stopping Vasilevsky before he could swing back into his presentation.

“Comrade Zhukov? You’ve remained silent, but you will have an opinion… maybe even a solution?”

“Comrade General Secretary, I have an opinion only. An acceptable solution is not yet apparent to me. There are only ways of coping, in the short term, ways that would be heavy on our ordinary soldiers, who would have to carry out orders on foot, and unsupported by our powerful all-arms forces… orders that would cost many their lives. We have no fuel to attack. We have no fuel to manoeuvre. We have no fuel to…”

“Yes, yes, yes. Very good, we have no fuel. You, the Victor of Khalkin Gol, surely you can find a solution here?”

He exchanged looks with Vasilevsky, who had been elected as the sacrificial lamb, the one to put the dramatic and unpalatable solution to Stalin and the political leadership.

“Hah!”

Stalin misinterpreted the silent exchange between the two marshals, seeing it as weakness and a lack of courage to deliver the bottom line. He knew someone who would have the necessary ‘balls of steel’.

“It seems my military leadership lack the courage to inform us of their opinion. Perhaps you have the strength to tell us in their stead, Comrade Nazarbayeva?”

“It is not my place, Comrade General Secre…”

Stalin flew into an immediate rage, hammering his hand on the table to emphasise virtually every syllable.

“It is your place if I command it, woman!”

Nazarbayeva recoiled in horror.

Beria smiled as discreetly as he was able.

‘At last… at last!’

“Comrade General Secretary, as you order.”

The ‘Hero of the Soviet Union’ in her took control, and all of a sudden the beautiful woman set her jaw and changed into the soldier who had fought and killed in the Crimea many years before.

“The Red Army cannot attack. It cannot manoeuvre. It is, to all intents and purposes, immobile. There is no fuel for tanks, for lorries, for staff cars, for anything. Even fodder is in critically short supply but, as many of the horses have been eaten by hungry soldiers, that is less of a problem.”

She moved forward, standing closer to Stalin, on the cusp of a respectful distance, but closer than most normally dared to wander.