Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6)

by Colin Gee

  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.

  “GRU intelligence suggests an increasing German Army, probably taking over many of the duties of the Amerikanski, which in turn will relieve pressure on their President. It seems the green toads again relish the prospect of fighting us, now they are backed up by the industrial might of our capitalist enemies. I’m sure that the NKVD opinion will agree with ours.”

  Beria suddenly found himself the centre of attention, and didn’t enjoy it at all.

  “The NKVD reports are roughly in agreement with the GRU suggestion, Comrades.”

  Attention switched back to Nazarbayeva.

  “The Ukrainians have been subjugated, but the drought has hit the harvest hard, as has the fighting, and we stand on the edge of further supply problems, all of which will be undoubtedly increased by Allied air actions. Historically, we lose a huge proportion of all supplies long before they reach the front, but we have seen more problems occurring with inner distribution since enemy bombing raids started to spread further through the Rodina, despite the gallant work of the Red Air Force.”

  Colonel General Repin, the Air Force deputy commander, nodded in acceptance of her words.

  “Set against that inevitability, we will not be able to feed and provision our troops or our people.”

  “Militarily, we cannot order our soldiers to move back without abandoning most of our equipment.”

  Nazarbayeva had heard those words in Vasilevsky’s office the previous day, so they were easy to employ.

  “Also, regardless of what we seem to see in the Allied press, I believe that their politicians will inevitably order use of the new bombs against the Rodina. I see it as inevitable that they will use their bombs on us, bombs to which we have no answer, and can offer no response of our own at this time… unless I am missing some exciting developments within our own programmes?”

  Kurchatov fidgeted uneasily as most of the eyes in the room shifted to him.

  His headshake was enough for Nazarbayeva to continue.

  “So, we find ourselves with no ability to move our armies. No definite guarantee that we can supply our armies enough of the basics to give them a fighting chance against the Allies. Foodstuffs will be limited before the Allied aircraft increase our supply problems, not just for the military, but for the Rodina as a whole. Our industry and infrastructure continue to suffer at the hands of their bombing force. And then there is the question of these new weapons. Our own special weapons programme is unable to offer anything of value at this time, whereas theirs is available, and can transform large sections of the Motherland to ashes virtually at will. It seems clear to me what must be done here, Comrade General Secretary.”

  She waited for a response, holding the leader’s gaze as his face changed colour and his eyes blazed.

  “So, Comrade Nazarbayeva, your opinion as to what must be done is what exactly?”

  Standing erect, ramrod stiff, and every inch the Soviet hero, Nazarbayeva delivered the damning words.

  “Comrade General Secretary, I believe that you must seek peace, or lose the army, and the war; it is that simple.”

  The collective intake of breath was audible.

  Stalin moved forward, until she could smell the orange juices still clinging to his moustache.

  “Say that again?”

  “I believe you must make peace, Comr…”

  Stalin moved with incredible and unexpected speed, landing a vicious slap across Nazarbayeva’s face, and sent her reeling back against Vasilevsky, who caught and steadied her.

  “So… there we have it… and I thought you had steel… that you, above all others, had the backbone to succeed… to win against all odds.”

  Nazarbayeva the soldier moved back to her previous position in front of the dictator and stood her ground.

  Throughout the room, there was genuine horror and shock at what had happened.

  Stalin’s eyes were still burning wildly, but Nazarbayeva gave him direct eye contact, despite the growing bruise across her left cheek and the gentle drip of blood from her nostril.

  Even Beria had a grudging admiration for the courage that she displayed.

  ‘Balls of steel.’

  “Comrade General Secretary, the Red Army is the instrument of the Party… of the State… and it must be protected, for without a functioning and strong army both could flounder.”

  She instinctively wiped a run of blood from her chin, too late to stop a pair of red spots appearing on her shirt collar.

  She pressed her index finger to the Hero Award on her jacket.

  “This award was given to me because I refused to give in, at a time when all seemed lost. I understood then… and understand now…”

  Nazarbayeva checked herself, realising that her own voice was rising with anger.

  She continued in a more controlled fashion.

  “I understand when I cannot win, Comrade General Secretary, and also when I must do what is unpalatable to avoid losing.”

  Vasilevsky moved forward with a napkin and offered it up as the blood started to flow more readily, her own ange
r still rising and causing her blood pressure to rise.

  “I am yours to command, Comrade General Secretary, and you may beat me, or worse, as you wish. But that will not change a single fact here. To preserve the army, and therefore the party and state, peace must be sought. In the short term, there is no choice. It will buy time… perhaps enough for Comrade Kurchatov’s weapons to become available, but certainly time that will help the army recover. At this moment, we cannot win, Comrade General Secretary, but we can… we must… avoid losing.”

  She wiped a run of blood and, as she did it, she saw a lessening in the dictator’s tension, his body relaxing in some small measure.

  “Comrade General Secretary, you have done this before, in a different way. You bought time in the struggle against the Germanski, signing an unpalatable pact with them, all for the benefit of the Rodina. You saw then that it was the best way to protect the party and state… saw what many others could not. I’m sure you will see it again… here… in these circumstances.”

  Stalin said nothing as he resumed his seat, a nothing that clearly signalled a reduction in the tension.

  Nazarbayeva’s left eye started to lose full vision, as swelling and bruising acted.

  None the less, she held firm and waited.

  They all waited.

  Finally, Stalin pointed a finger at Vasilevsky.

  “Marshal? Does your opinion correspond to that put forward by the GRU?”

  Kuznetsov, the GRU head, briefly considered stating that it was not his opinion but, wisely, the GRU chief thought better of it.

  Vasilevsky moved forward and stood beside Nazarbayeva.

  “Comrade General Secretary… unless you and the GKO have some device, some plan, some strategy that is hidden to me, I can only agree that a peace, even a temporary one, is the only way to preserve what we presently have and hold.”

  Stalin blanked Vasilevsky and turned to Zhukov.

  “And you, Georgy Zhukov, Marshal of the Soviet Union… the victory bringer… what is your opinion on this grave matter eh?”

  He too moved forward, flanking the GRU general.

  “I agree, Comrade General Secretary. Unless you have some brilliant plan that is not known to me, the only course of action to preserve our army is to seek a truce.”