Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6)

by Colin Gee

  “Comrade Pinkerova, bring me the file on enemy formations destroyed since August 45. Thank you.”

  Nazarbayeva’s eyebrow raised, and her aide placed a pencil around three names on the report he had been reading.

  “And why they are a problem?”

  The requested file arrived and Poboshkin quickly found what he was looking for.

  “47th is brand new. Totally brand new.”

  He returned to checking the sheet.

  “The 15th was utterly destroyed in the early days, mainly in and around Lübeck.”

  He passed the report over.

  “The 51st Division was decimated in and around Hamburg, reinforced, and again totally gutted during the battles south of Bremen, especially at Barnstorf and Diepholz.”

  Nazarbayeva gestured at Rufin, encouraging him to refill the glasses, adding Pinkerova to the drinking circle.

  “5th Division is back in the line… relieving 38th Division… but…”

  He rifled through a sheaf of paperwork, his memory screaming something vital at him, something he couldn’t quite hear… couldn’t quite understand… and then he found the paper and it clicked into place.

  “5th Division was worn down badly by our forces, and our intelligence suggested it would be broken up to flesh out other divisions. This has been a British practice. And yet… 5th Division is back in the line… and covers the same area as the 38th Division, a unit that was at relatively full strength, which…”

  “…Which suggests that the 5th is also… or might suggest that there is an opportunity for our ground forces if it isn’t… but I think not.”

  Nazarbayeva stood and held out her glass.

  “Finish your brandy, Comrades. No one leaves this building until I have the answers to these questions.”

  She knocked back the final dregs of the Asbach and slammed the glass on the table.

  “One… estimated strength of individual British formations now, compared to lowest point… plus, say November and March for most.”

  She moved on quickly.

  “Two… all reports on British and Dominion units to be reviewed… looking at physical strengths, reinforcements, time out of the line, all the factors that will help us here.”

  Poboshkin was taking notes and added a couple of extra specifics.

  “Three…estimated strength of the new Germanski Army… POW numbers… break it down into Italy and the main force… estimated numbers elsewhere, of course. I want to know exactly what we do know… and what we don’t know. Start on the basis of underestimation, remove such ‘estimates’ and start with fact, fact, fact.’

  She smacked her palm on the desk three times to emphasise her words.

  “The Fascists have put one over on us, I’m convinced of it.”

  Poboshkin shifted uncomfortably, knowing he had played a major part in any mistakes.

  Rufin shifted uncomfortably, without words reminding Nazarbayeva that there was an outstanding matter.

  “Four, contact Moscow for any reports on home political pressure on the military of our enemy… indications of a lack of resilience, especially the Amerikanski.”

  “Five… five… reports on Allied offensive activity in the Pacific. Simple enough.

  The telephone rang.

  “Nazarbayeva.”

  She listened.

  “No, thank you, Comrade Leytenant. Tell my driver I’ll be staying here tonight.”

  Replacing the receiver, she paused for effect.

  “Six… I’ll attend to six personally, Comrades.”

  Poboshkin raised an eyebrow, seeking information.

  “Through my personal contacts, Comrade Polkovnik.”

  He understood fully.

  “Comrade Rufin, what else do you have, before we set to this task?”

  “The Germans, Comrade Mayor General. It’s a stupid little report of no consequence… or so it seems… but I think it might help you in this moment.”

  She examined the paperwork and smiled.

  “Medals?”

  “Yes, Comrade Mayor General. These four firms produced medals for the Nazi pigs and, it seems, are about to do so for the new Germanski government.”

  “So I see… but what exactly am I seeing?”

  “I quickly checked the register of destroyed German infrastructure, and those four are the only facilities that survived intact enough to start any sort of production, except for some still within our lines.”

  “So these four are the only German firms available to make their medals?”

  “Yes, Comrade Mayor General.”

  “I see. Continue, Comrade.”

  “That message has been transposed from the original German to Russian.”

  “Yes?”

  “Here is the original German report.”

  She compared the two quickly, not absorbing the content.

  “Fine... my German’s a little rusty, but that seems to be accurate.”

  “No, Comrade Mayor General, it isn’t. Comrade Pinkerova is our language specialist.”

  He passed another two pieces of paper to the woman officer, copies of the original documents, but held up a hand to stop her proceeding, and turned to Pinkerova

  “Do you agree with the additional notations, Comrade?”

  Pinkerova examined the extra notes and nodded her agreement.

  “Yes, Comrade. They are correct.”

  Rufin returned to addressing the wider audience.

  “As you see, Comrades, the report speaks of an order from their Army Headquarters, sent to those four manufacturers, an order for new medals in the new style. It is broken down into replacements for existing awards, what they call de-Nazification, and for new awards.”

  Nazarbayeva hid her impatience well, just not well enough, and Poboshkin picked up on it… and acted on it.

  “For the Motherland’s sake, man, get on with it!”

  Rufin’s ruffled feathers were obvious, but he pressed on.

  “Comrade Mayor General, it is estimated that the Germanski awarded some four million second class medals in their whole war, from 39 to 45. They have asked for roughly two and a half million for replacements which, I have reasonably assumed, is because many holders were killed.”

  He cut Poboshkin a look and continued.

  “The figures for first class awards and the Cross also seem to tally nicely. Each company is asked to produce a quarter of the awards, so that would be six hundred thousand of the second class award each.”

  He accepted the two reports back from Pinkerova and set them before his commander.

  “Here’s the original, which lays out the replacement medal requirements… and here’s where it states about the new requirements. The medal is apparently different in both cases. Our problem lies in the translation.”

  He pointed at both as he read the upside down words.

  “It was mistranslated, Comrade Mayor General. Instead of saying that these four companies produce a quarter of four hundred thousand new style second class awards, or of the higher medals… it actually says each…”

  “What?”

  “The Germanski High Command is ordering over one and a half million new Iron Cross second class medals to award its soldiers.”

  “Mudaks!”

  All eyes turned to Pinkerova, who went the very brightest of bright reds.

  “Apologies, Comrade Mayor General!”

  Nazarbayeva laughed and smiled.

  “I agree. Mudaks! They think they’ll need them. Comrade PodPolkovnik, concentrate on the Germanski first. I want answers to the questions that this poses.”

  She held up the mistranslated report.

  “Comrade Mayor Rufin. The Motherland thanks you… and I thank you. Well done. Now, get the staff up and in… if they’ve gone off duty… are on leave… sick… no excuses… everyone gets on with this now. Go!”

  Her officers split like a bursting star and she was alone with her thoughts almost immediately.

  Taking a
moment to steady herself, Nazarbayeva picked up the telephone.

  “Communications office.”

  “General Nazarbayeva here. Get me a secure line to Moscow… office of the NKVD Deputy Chairman…”

  The communications personnel did their work efficiently and within a few seconds there was a voice at the other end of the line.

  “Mayor General Kaganovich’s office, Polkovnik Oberunov speaking.”

  “Comrade Oberunov. General Nazarbayeva here. I need to speak to the General immediately.”

  “I’m afraid he left orders not to be disturbed under any circumstances, Comrade Mayor General.”

  “I understand your reluctance, Comrade Polkovnik. But I assure you that the deputy chairman will want to take my call.”

  Aware of the developing relationship between the GRU and NKVD generals, Oberunov made a judgement call.

  “Are you in your office, Comrade Mayor General?”

  “28284… we relocated to 28284. The military exchange will route properly.”

  She used the code number for Torgau, rather than the name, just in case.

  “Wait by your phone please, Comrade General. I will contact the deputy chairman immediately.”

  The phone went dead and she slid it back on the receiver, wondering if she should have had the Asbach… and equally pondering if she should have another.

  The shrilling of the telephone ended the mental struggle.

  “Nazarbayeva.”

  “Comrade General, Kaganovich here, still dripping from the steam bath. What’s so important that you track me down so mercilessly?”

  She told him.

  He reacted appropriately.

  “Blyad!”

  He then told her something she didn’t know.

  “Mudaks! And that information is how old, Comrade Kaganovich?”

  “This afternoon. I was having it verified before I arranged to meet you prior to the Saturday briefing.”

  “But your gut feeling is that it’s correct?”

  “My source has never been wrong yet.”

  “So it is all about the Germanski then.”

  “Maybe not all, but certainly it appears we might have underestimated them. What will you do?”

  “When will you confirm this all by?”

  “Hopefully by tomorrow, day after at the latest.”

  “As soon as I have everything in order here, I’m getting on the first plane to Moscow. The GKO will need to see this… and to understand it… I’m not going to trust it to a telephone call.”

  “No, you’re correct not to. I will pursue my verification and let you know as soon as I have it… or not… as the case may be.”

  “Thank you, Comrade Kaganovich. I’ll keep you informed.”

  “Tread carefully, Tatiana. Goodbye.”

  The click underlined the statement, and Nazarbayeva stared at the inanimate object, seeking further clarification… which was clearly not forthcoming.

  She gently seated the handset, treating it like an unexploded bomb.

  “Comrade Poboshkin!”

  Her aide appeared in the doorway, and Nazarbayeva waved him to a seat.

  “Number six has proved… err… interesting… and supports our theory. Comrade Kaganovich is confirming the information right now. It appears that the British are having a service of thanksgiving for the end of the Japanese conflict, on Sunday… this Sunday… July 27th.”

  “Right…”

  “Kaganovich’s agent is a British policeman… their London police force… he has seen the dignitaries list…”

  “Let me guess, Comrade… might it contain numerous senior commanders of the American forces that we have as possibly being replaced by Germanski units?”

  “Not quite, Comrade, not numerous… all.”

  “What?”

  “According to Kaganovich, the list specifies senior officers from the 12th Army Group… every corps commander, army commander, except that ass Patton, plus Bradley, Eisenhower, and even Bedell-Smith.”

  Poboshkin was speechless.

  “Eisenhower and Bedell-Smith… well… they can get by without them… but taking out nearly every other senior commander. Even if they leave experienced second in commands in charge… well… it’s without precedent.”

  “Not if the Americans are out of the line…”

  He paused as his mind flicked a switch.

  “Or if the attention of our army is going to be focussed elsewhere.”

  “As we suspected, Comrade, the two things are interlinked. We have all missed the probable expansion of the Germanski forces, and it is they who are going to launch the attacks now, a situation we have contrived by the success of the Vasilevsky plan to target the Amerikanski.”

  “Now we know what to look for, I’m sure we’ll find more evidence, Comrade Mayor General.”

  “We better had, because I’m flying to Moscow tomorrow, and I want to take as much proof as I possibly can.”

  “Then I’ll get back to my desk… if there’s nothing else, Comrade?”

  “Get me everything you can, Andrey Ivanovich. Everything you can.”

  2028 hrs, Tuesday, 23rd July 1946, the Duingerwald, east of Folziehausen, Germany.

  The patient’s eyes flickered, implying that he was waking up, something that immediately prompted the nurse to summon the doctor.

  Emaciated by the after-effects of disease and the terrors of the Russian Front, the medical Captain limped over and examined the medical miracle that was Hubert Aschmann.

  Punctured in a dozen places, Aschmann had received the largest quantity of blood anyone in the experienced German medical facility could remember.

  He was now without some God-given parts of his body, such as spleen, a portion of liver, part of his intestine, a thumb, an ear lobe, six teeth, and a testicle.

  Bordered in red, the tag still affixed to the shredded remains of his tunic, informed anyone with half an eye that he had been close to the end, as if the state of the tunic itself was not enough evidence of his luck.

  “Well, Herr Oberleutnant, you’ve been one hell of a lucky man.”

  As he spoke, the doctor examined the wound sites, each revealed in turn by the beaming nurse.

  “No infection… none whatsoever… testament to the pharmaceuticals supplied by our Allies… and the diligence of our nurses, especially Agnetha here.”

  Her smile broadened with the clear recognition of her efforts by the unit’s top battle surgeon.

  Speech for Aschmann was a studied affair, although he managed unexpected clarity.

  “I’m thirsty.”

  A glass of water magically appeared and the nurse held his head to allow him to savour the cold fluid.

  “Thank you. How long have I been here, Doc?”

  “Two days, give or take a minute or two. Nurse, I think this needs more frequent dressing.”

  “It will be done, Herr Hauptmann.”

  Aschmann looked extremely concerned, as Doctor Grüber had been fiddling with items of great importance to the as yet unmarried man.

  “Calm yourself, Aschmann, don’t look so glum. It will still all work and will be hardly noticeable… provided our nurse gives the area the attention it deserves.”

  Agnetha Folstein blushed heavily.

  A noise behind the two clinicians grew into raucous laughter, and quickly drew out the different side of Hauptmann Grüber.

  “Silence! What the hell do you think this is, a Scheisse kindergarten? It’s a hospital, now shut up or I’ll sign you off and send you back to fight the communists!”

  The laughter dropped to sniggers immediately, sniggers that grew in volume until they manifested into the bandaged personas of Janjowski and Von Scharf.

  “I’d watch this one I were you, Nurse Folstein. He’s a terror… and still available. I can protect you, of course.”

  Aschmann laughed at Janjowski’s humour and went to playfully punch his arm, but failed miserably.

  “Lie still, you fool!”


  Hubert Aschmann took some time to examine his left arm and realised it was immobilised.

  Grüber answered his question.

  “You lost the thumb, and both the hand and arm are broken. Nothing dramatic, Oberleutnant, just messy, so I wanted it all immobilised… so there it is. Everything will work… given a little time, of which you’ll have plenty.”

  He looked at the two waiting officers and decided on discretion.

  “I’ll leave you three to it… but Nurse Folstein’s word is law, and if you give her any trouble, then I’ll hear about it. Klar?”

  They mumbled their responses through smiles and waited until the Doctor had left the bedside.

  Aschmann coughed a greeting, and felt pain shoot through his body.

  “Steady, Hubert. I know you’re pleased to see me but stay calm, man!”

  Another bout of coughing brought Aschmann time to conjure a response.

  He first worked his jaw to make sure he would manage the words he had selected.

  “Up yours, Kas.”

  Janjowski sat on the bed, contrary to ward rules, resting his damaged leg, whilst Von Scharf placed an inflatable ring on a folding chair and lowered himself onto it with great care.

  He caught Aschmann’s quizzical eye.

  “If you say one fucking word, it’ll be the penal bataillons for you.”

  Janjowski made a great play of hiding his mouth from view, but stage whispered so that even his words penetrated the bandaged head of a ‘Berlin’ Division Grenadier officer at the end of the ward.

  “Hit in the ass. Can you believe it, eh? Managed to get all of his towering bulk into cover, but left his little button up so Ivan could put some shrapnel right on the bull’s eye.”

  Von Scharf growled playfully.

  “There are vacancies for Leutnants as well as Oberleutnants in the penal units… remember that before you flap your lips.”

  “Excuse him, Hubert, he’s very tired.”

  “Shut up, you schwein. How are you feeling, Aschmann?”

  He could feel the stitches pull as he talked, so tried to move his jaw less.

  For some reason, his companions ignored the resulting unintended comedy voice.

  “Like shit to be honest. What happened on that fucking hill?”

  “They hit us with a full regiment of Stalin’s Organs. We lost a lot of good boys.”