Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (95 page)

Regardless of the dubious lineage of the premises, Soviet planners had been unable to ignore the protection offered and so had prepared tunnels thirty-eight to forty-five as the controlling centre for all military action within Europe, with other tunnels converted to areas of food preparation, barracks, sleeping accommodation for headquarters staff, in fact everything a self-contained facility required. Even with notice, the facilities were Spartan but having seen what visiting heavy bombers were capable of, very few grumbled and even fewer were prepared to exchange carpeted hallways and fine art for the protection offered by a few hundred feet of solid rock.

Zhukov had been woken by his orderly and, having completed his ablutions, he was sat with most of his senior Front Commanders, already present for the crucial meeting.

The rest of the officers in the room were the permitted Deputies, who all engaged with their own circle, be it by rank or post.

Tea, strong and sweet, was the order of the day and the men sat drinking steadily, sampling basic fare from platters spread before them. Sliced sausage, ham, boiled eggs, salted cucumbers and marvellous breads of different ilks. A soldier’s meal had been the request and a soldier’s meal it was, albeit of a higher culinary standard than the average Soviet soldier in the frontline.

Chuikov, the Colonel General commander of the unengaged 1st Alpine Front, was alone and concentrating on taking healthy bites of bread, ham, and cucumber.

Marshall’s of the Soviet Union Malinovsky and Rokossovsky, 1st and 3rd Red Banner Central European Front’s respectively, were in animated conversation regarding the upcoming planned phase two and if it was yet appropriate. Zhukov debated entering the discussion but felt it would keep.

Sokolovsky, Colonel-General of the sidelined Polish Army was in more quieter and less agitated discussion with the Armenian General Bagramyan, his de facto superior as commander of 1st Baltic Front.

Zhukov laughed inwardly as he realised that Colonel General’s Yeremenko of 1st Southern European Front and Malinin, his Chief of Staff were both cornered by Marshall Tolbukhin and his legendary rendition of the Camel Joke.

Whilst the joke itself was of average quality and had been in Tolbukhin’s armoury for more years than Zhukov cared to remember, no one who witnessed the delivery could fail to be impressed by Tolbukhin’s application and spirit in the telling.

Bringing himself back from the lighter moment, Zhukov told himself that Tolbukhin, as commander of the 1st Balkan Front, would need all his good humour to deal with the delicacies of being adjacent to an upset and sizeable Yugoslavian army.

Zhukov looked at the clock.

‘Where is the fool?’
a thought he could not give voice to.

Malinin caught sight of his commander’s unspoken question and followed his gaze to the wall clock that had ticked past 0330 hrs, the allotted time for the meeting. He shrugged almost imperceptibly and nodded, taking his leave of Tolbukhin, who was in full swing.

On exiting the room, which is what it was, walls, ceiling and floor constructed of wood sitting in a cavernous space, he almost collided with an agitated Soviet officer.

About to reprimand the man, he realised that he had nearly come into contact with Marshall Konev, the late arrival, which officer was in a state of some disrepair. Apart from being soaked, his greatcoat was torn, muddy and rent down one side.

There was more than a hint of blood on his left ear and he looked particularly unhappy.

“I hope you are not hurt Comrade Marshall?”

A very disgruntled Konev merely grunted, handing his coat and cap to an orderly. There was no need for any instruction; it would be sorted by the time the Marshall came out of the meeting.

Konev, commander of 2nd Red Banner Central European Front, strode in, nodding here and there and finally at Zhukov before apologising generally and grabbing some tea and food.

A black smudge across Konev’s bald pate and a bloody left ear made those present realise that there was more story to his delay than a missed turning or a flat tyre.

Zhukov tried hard not to be irked by the man but failed miserably. There was no love lost between the two since the race for Berlin, and in truth, there was little prior to that for more than one reason.

Stalin had assigned the capture of Berlin to Zhukov but,
 
and some said deliberately, had not laid out defined borders between the two Fronts. Konev being Konev had oriented his forces in such a way as to ensure his forces made it into Berlin. His forces arrived some time ahead of Zhukov’s because of the relatively successful German defence of the Seelow Heights, which slowed the advance of Zhukov’s forces.

Such things are unrepeatable milestones in a military career and Zhukov saw his milestone as permanently tarnished.

Calling the meeting to order, Zhukov beckoned to one of his aides, who removed the drapes concealing a map of the Far East.

Addressing one matter all wanted cleared up first, he directly addressed Konev.

“Comrade Marshall, are you wounded?”

Konev picked at his ear and inspected the red smear on his fingers.

“Shall I just say that a journey by air at night is not safe, even behind our lines Comrades.”

Konev, being Konev, had decided to leave as late as possible and fly to Nordhausen’s airfield, having been led to believe it was safe enough and being given the promise of fighter escort.

He witnessed the destruction of three of his escorts before being singled out for attack by whatever it was that was out there.

“Flying back will be easier in daylight I am assured, provided I can get another pilot.”

The previous airman was presently being bandaged in the headquarters aid station, silently hopeful that the loss of four toes would prevent him from flying again.

“None the less, we are glad you are relatively unscathed Comrade.”

Which in essence Zhukov was, but probably because of the disruption the loss of a Front Commander would cause to his military progress.

Drawing a line under the matter, Zhukov pressed on.

“Comrades, before we progress into the purpose of this gathering, can I confirm with all of you that you have had opportunity to read this document,” holding up a copy of Vasilevsky’s report on progress with Operation Diaspora he turned the cover towards him reading aloud, “Version B dated 10th August?”

It wasn’t a question as such, because every man there was required to be totally aware of Diaspora in case a change in leadership came about due to unforeseen circumstances.

“I must say, Comrade Marshall Vasilevsky is performing brilliantly, hand in hand with our Japanese Allies.”

He smiled broadly.

“It seems our new friends have adapted well to the gifts we sent, and all of us here know how effective they could be in the hands of the green toads.”

Dropping the ‘Diaspora -B-10/08- MRBF- Chief Intelligence Office - AMV’ report like it was a hot coal, he snatched up another small report.

“However, you will probably not be aware that the Americans are sending a considerable number of units to the Chinese mainland, as listed in appendix ‘B’ of this document.”

Waiting hands eagerly grabbed this new report from a young major issuing out copies.

“Appendix ‘A’ deals with naval allocations and, as such, is of limited interests to us, except to say that Diaspora is doing exactly what we hoped and more so.”

Chuikov, the roughest by nature of the gathered Commanders, speed-read and gave vent to his surprise.

“Govno!”

“I think you will find I am correct Comrade Colonel-General.”

There was a general ripple of laughter, especially as Marshall Zhukov was rarely given to public displays of humour.

Chuikov started to rise to his feet.

“Apologies Comrade, I was just surprised by this,” he indicated Appendix ‘B’.

Zhukov gestured the man back down into his seat, knowing that Chuikov may well be rough by nature, but he had stood his ground when no other had stood, Hero of the Mamayev Kurgan in Stalingrad.

He liked the man immensely.

“I think Comrade Chuikov expresses it well. The list of units they are sending to China will definitely inconvenience Vasilevsky but is undoubtedly of advantage to us.”

There was no intended humour in that and, in any case, Rokossovsky stood requiring the floor.

“Comrade Zhukov, is this information accurate? Has it been tested?”

The man, never given to excessive verbiage, resumed his seat.

Zhukov nodded accepting the sensible question.

“Comrade General Pekunin has received this through his own agents and assures the General Secretary of its factual nature.”

A small rumble of positive noises needed to be quelled before he could press on.

“In fairness, our beloved Marshall Beria,” such talk was safe amongst Military men, even Konev, “Has not been able to verify this list, but then you wouldn’t expect him to would you?”

The rivalry between GRU and NKVD was the stuff of legend.

“I think we must look at this report with a view to believing it to be true. After all, Pekunin’s lot have done well for us so far.”

Chuikov stood and was given the floor by Zhukov.

“I note from this list that a number of formations that we anticipated would be deployed in my area of operations are no longer slated for Europe. If this second phase of our attack proceeds as we have planned, then the front opposite me will be weakened by the Allied movement’s we anticipate into Southern Germany and Austria.”

That was window dressing for his next question, nay statement.

“In that case, are we planning to initiate phase three earlier and also proceed with the Iberian option?”

Holding out his palms in surrender, Zhukov cut straight in before others could get a word in.

“Wait Comrade. I appreciate your aggressive intent but we cannot yet be sure what assets the Allies will move from Italy northwards when we unleash our armies. Let us not get ahead of ourselves.”

Zhukov paused.

“And while we are on the subject, NKVD seems to feel that the Spanish change of position will be of little effect, a view I am inclined to agree with.”

There was no contrary view put forward, although there certainly would have been had Nazarbayeva’s report been to hand.

Indicating the next covered area on the rear wall Zhukov stepped aside as the orderly repeated his unveiling.

“This is the situation you are all aware of.”

Sitting down he gave the floor to his deputy Malinin who stepped forward, ready armed with long handled pointer.

“Comrades, our progress has, for the main part, been less than we would have hoped. However the purpose has been served and served well.”

As he started speaking, another staff officer was distributing the latest figures on losses and strengths.

“I cannot recall the figures from memory but you will see that overall we are not suffering casualties as we expected, either in manpower or equipment.”

Clearing his throat, he added a cautionary note.

“Except for air, where the losses have been murderous. Operation Kurgan was a brilliant success and their ground attack assets were decimated. Huge casualties were inflicted upon their command and control facilities, as well as their early-warning sites.”