Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (33 page)
Read Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) Online
Authors: Colin Gee
And then a steady procession of positive words until only Zhukov had not spoken.
Stalin looked up at the proud Marshall, silently inviting him to speak.
“Comrade General Secretary. Comrades. I am a military man and know little of politics. In those matters, I am guided by those who have the ability and expertise to judge. To my uneducated eye, the political considerations for this mission are proven.”
He took the plunge.
“As a soldier I have fought for the Motherland these last four years, and years before them too, years which have seen death and destruction on a scale none of us could ever have imagined.”
“Our planning gives us the opportunity to fight on the soil of our enemies and not on our own sacred land, and so we will not see the deaths to our own people that were wrought by the Germanski invaders.”
He took out a document.
“As part of the necessity of military planning I have had to project losses amongst ours and allied forces, on a best, middle, and worst case scenario. It is right that I share these figures with you. You must have this information because you know best how we may replace these losses and remain combat effective.”
This was very dangerous ground for Zhukov and everyone in the room knew it. More than one sideways glance was made at the impassive Stalin, whose sole response was to tug gently on his pipe and stare.
“In our best case, casualties amongst military personnel would be between two and four hundred thousand up to June 1946, allowing for Pacification of occupied territories and without the Iberian option. That is solely within Europe. Their casualties should at all times mirror ours. I make no reference to any civilian casualties in the affected countries.”
“Middle case indicates five hundred to eight hundred and fifty thousand, with plans being protracted beyond the expected completion dates, again without Iberia and including Pacification.”
“Worst case scenario extends our completion dates further and will probably entail 1.2 million plus casualties.”
Almost as an after-thought came a statement, which many thought would probably save his neck.
“If our casualties are high, theirs will be similar in proportion. They do not have the political will to sustain extreme loss, certainly not as we do.”
That the last comment was not necessarily glowing praise for the present assembly was missed by everyone.
Stalin stood abruptly.
“Comrade Marshall, lives lost in the protection of the Motherland are lives well spent. That has always been the case.”
More than just Zhukov felt fear at the tone.
“The key question is not how many will die but will they die in vain.”
His hand smashed down on to the table with a sound not unlike a gunshot.
“We have given you the outline and you have given us the plan. Yours is the responsibility. To bring victory and deliverance from capitalism to the Rodina is the task of the Red Army,” His arm shot out and a thick finger pointed straight at Zhukov, emphasising the middle word, “Under YOUR leadership!”
That message was loud and clear. Responsibility equalled firing squad if things went wrong.
“So Comrade Marshall Zhukov, are you capable of delivering victory?”
Zhukov snapped to attention.
“I can and will defeat the Western Allies militarily. Kingdom39 will succeed Comrade General Secretary.”
Stalin gently nodded but without taking his hardened eyes from Zhukov, assessing him and reading his resolve and commitment.
“Very good Comrade Marshall.”
His eyes flicked away and the danger was gone. Others now met his gaze but Stalin’s eyes had softened from the extreme of the last few moments.
“So, we are all agreed. We will initiate the operation as discussed?”
The unusual genuine quizzical tone caught a few by surprise and their nods were deeper and more rapid.
Turning around to focus on Zhukov once more, Stalin gave the order.
“Operation Kingdom39 is fully approved and will commence at 0530 on 6th August.”
Thus ended the pause.
It had been Beria’s idea to use the BBC to spread the information throughout Western Europe and so the radio station’s evening broadcast carried the unexpected but extremely important news that Soviet Ministers Bulganin and Molotov were to visit London and Paris in the week ahead, starting with a fight to London arriving on the morning of 6th August.
From the Atlantic coast of France to the Baltic Sea, a number of resolute young men noted the date stated and consulted their orders, confirming with a mixture of trepidation and excitement that the inclusion of Bulganin’s name indicated dawn minus fifteen minutes on the stated date.
Better to fight for something than live for nothing.
George S. Patton
Like many things in war, or peace for that matter, what happened that Friday evening was neither planned nor anticipated. An event invited them to act and act they did.
For six days now, most of the prisoners had been marched out of the camp as dawn gathered itself, in order to dig huge anti-tank ditches all round the site for Soviet military exercises, returning only when the light was failing and overseeing was becoming difficult for the guards. Everyone was weary, including the Bulgarians, and sleep became the favourite and most welcomed activity for every inmate. Seven men had succumbed on the fourth day and were buried in a shallow grave outside the compound. Even the frequent firing of the Soviet military exercises that rent the still nights the last few days did not overly disturb the prisoners slumber. Tonight any gunfire would have to compete with a Central European thunderstorm of biblical proportions.
Rolf Uhlmann became aware during his day that many of the guards intended to visit Allensteig that very evening. Skryabin had called for a celebration as it was a popular officer’s birthday. A stash of German brandy had been uncovered so the Bulgarians had decided to get drunk and visit the fraternisation centre for a little bit of female company.
That the guards were going to be low on numbers was talked about over the evening meal but little more was said, as there was no escape kit worth a damn to hand. The recent previous effort had denuded their limited resources, and it would take some time to gather more items suitable for purpose. Escapes required planning to be successful, and as far as they were aware, unsuccessful escapees did not get a second chance with the NKVD. That all were exhausted obviously also played its part.
More of note at the time was the fact that the inexperienced Bulgarians were quite happy to troop off two kilometres away and leave a few men guarding their charges, and thoughts turned to the future if such an event should happen again.
Still, some of Rolf’s fellows amused themselves with the thought that the driving rain and high winds would at least curb the guard’s enjoyment of their night out.
Life and death are balanced on the edge of a razor.
Homer
2155 hrs Friday, 3rd August 1945, Airborne approx 400 ft above Soviet Occupied Lower Austria.
Junior Lieutenant Marina Budanova was lost and frightened. Her present mission with 586th Fighter Aviation Regiment had gone very wrong and was getting worse with every passing second. Where her comrades had got to, she had no idea. All she knew was one moment they were there and the next she was flying alone in the vastness above Northern Austria in the failing light of a very stormy European evening.
There had been no prediction of the extent of the foul weather that was presently buffeting her Yakolev-9 fighter aircraft, and certainly no prior indication that her compass and radio would both pack up. Her knowledge of the area was limited as she had only arrived at the airbase in Znojmo last week, and so she desperately unfolded her map in the hope that she could pick out some recognisable landmark on the ground.
She was unpopular with her comrades, more for her apparent inefficiency than for her mixed Polish-Russian parentage and gruff, unapproachable manner. Already reprimanded by the Regimental Commander, Budanova could not afford another black mark so soon and was rapidly becoming hysterical in her search for guidance home.
The storm was becoming more intense and it was increasingly difficult to see the ground, so Budanova, like the inexperienced young pilot she was, dropped lower and lower until vision was restored.
A flash of lightning alerted her to the presence of a body of water on her port side, so she frantically searched the map.
The body of water in question was the modest Stadtsee, not that it made the slightest difference for Budanova.
Desperately she swept the sheet for nearby airfields on which she could land swiftly before the failing light died completely.
In any case, her panic had already condemned her because her altitude had almost completely gone by the time she ripped her eyes away from the map and realised that her death was approaching as quickly as the ground that filled her vision.
A superhuman effort on the stick and an increase in engine revs could only buy her a few extra seconds of life. Both were instrumental in saving the lives of scores of others.
Budanova was vaguely aware of buildings ahead as she desperately sought height but her aircraft snagged overhead wires and she was dropped into the ground at speed, landing exactly flat to the earth and skimming at well over two hundred mph despite the destruction of the propeller.
The aircraft ploughed through some wooden buildings and was then flipped over by a number of stout poles.
Upside down, the last thing Budanova saw was the canopy disintegrate and the metal framework start to gather up earth like a shovel as the aircraft continued to expend its energy in forward momentum.
The scraping effect of her smashed canopy slowed the aircrafts passage but held no advantages for Budanova. She died a painful but reasonably swift death, broken, crushed and suffocated in her cockpit by the heavy press of gathered earth. She did not feel the heat when the now stationary aircraft started to burn around her.
Too late to fight in the war, she had merely become a statistic in the peace but was the catalyst to something that had very far-reaching consequences.
The secret of success in life is for a man to be ready for his opportunity when it comes.
Benjamin Disraeli
Uhlmann and Braun stood closely together sharing a cigarette and talking about Braun’s wife to be. Krystal Uhlmann, Rolf’s sister, had been immediately attracted to Braun, and the feeling was mutual. For conventions sake, the relationship had been kept secret or Braun might have had to leave the unit, but neither man permitted their future ties to interfere with their professional soldiering or relationship.
Now, whilst they enjoyed a quiet smoke away from the rest of their comrades, they could relax and talk about the future as friends. It was very necessary for everyone in the camp to talk about the future that they imagined for themselves, even though their immediate future held no great promises.
“And of course you have strictly honourable intentions don’t you?” teased Uhlmann.
“Obviously, or I wouldn’t have proposed to her Herr Sturmbannfuhrer,” couched in the disrespectful tones such as these two friends often used when alone together.