Impasse (The Red Gambit Series)

by Gee, Colin

  “No Sir. Most can be done in two weeks, yes, but not these.”

  He pointed out two pit-like structures to be installed on the south side of the base.

  “These need to be very robust, and are of special construction, Colonel. Four weeks for them. I’ve built some before, so I know what I’m talking about.”

  Finishing his coffee, curiosity overcame Lauridson.

  “Whereabouts, Colonel.”

  The USAAF officer’s eyes hardened for the briefest of moments before he realised he could speak openly.

  “Somewhere much warmer, Colonel Lauridson. Little place called Tinian. Now, shall we get our engineering people fired up?”

  If we lose the war in the air, we lose the war, and we lose it quickly.

  Bernard Law Montgomery

  Chapter 119 - THE CONFUSION

  1005 hrs, Wednesday, 11th December 1945, the Kremlin, Moscow, USSR.

  It was a bad day.

  The orders had gone out to the Air regiments, and those that were left had risen into the morning sun and, yet again, found no armada, save for one that was airborne.

  Casualties were not as heavy as the day before, mainly because fewer aircraft had been available to attack.

  Allied heavy bombing attacks along the Baltic coast, all the way to Leningrad, were relatively unopposed, although the claims from the anti-aircraft units were impressive.

  The simple fact was that the enemy fleet could not be found, over a third of Soviet Denmark was lost to ground attack, and that Soviet blood had been spilled at an alarming rate, even for men used to heavy losses in the cause of victory.

  The hierarchy of the Red Navy was in a state of shock, so bad were the figures that had arrived from airfields and naval bases surrounding the Baltic.

  The destroyer force simply wasn’t any more. Those at sea who engaged in the fight had been slaughtered. Those in port had received close attention from Allied heavy bombers, and many would need raising from where they had sunk at their moorings, and most of the rest would need months of repair.

  The venerable battleship, ‘Oktyabrskaya Revolyutsiya’, sunk by the Germans in September 1941 and subsequently raised, was sunk permanently by Lancasters operating in daylight with Tallboy bombs, the RAF planners understanding that her significance was more in the hearts of the Soviet people than in her effectiveness in combat.

  The cruisers Gorky and Kirov were damaged, the former by a German mine left over from the previous war, the Captain falling foul of the minefield as he attempted to drive his charge out of Kronstadt.

  Kirov had been bombed in place, and the fires were still raging.

  The Baltic submarine force had taken a beating, but was the nearest thing to a force that could be considered relatively effective.

  Almost as if a higher authority conspired to heap woe on woe, the overdue elektroboote B-29 was now considered lost, which, when combined with the sinking of the Golden Quest the previous day, eliminated the Soviet naval presence in the Atlantic.

  The Air Force leaders was almost in a daze as reports of whole bomber regiments lost filtered through. Escorting fighters had experienced heavy losses too, and the efforts to restore some sort of reasonable air power in Northern Germany and Poland were consuming them, as they worked hard to pull in replacement units from all over the USSR.

  The arguments flowed back and forth.

  “We cannot attack that which we cannot find!”

  A fair statement, particularly when the Soviet air reconnaissance force was a shadow of its former self.

  “There have been no landings on any shore.”

  ‘Does that mean they are still sailing?’

  More than one wondered it, but Vice-Admiral Tributs assured everyone that the Gulf of Bothnia was enemy free.

  Nazarbayeva’s report had been taken over the phone whilst Stalin enjoyed early morning tea.

  It dovetailed with that of the NKVD, increasing the mystery. Both agencies had now identified a large enemy carrier force in the North Sea, not that Soviet aviation or the navy could now interfere with it. In any case, that snippet of information supplied some answers as to where the huge numbers of Allied fighters had come from. Only one land asset had been identified as possibly being part of an invasion force, a German formation embarked in the southern Norwegian ports.

  In short, there was nothing to support the report from Saltholm regarding a hundred ships.

  So, the big question was clear. What was the possibility of a large invasion fleet, or any large force of ships for that matter, at sea in the Baltic?

  The answer to the question also now seemed clear.

  It did not mean that there definitely wasn’t, but it did raise the spectre that there were was Allied maskirovka at work, and that the whole thing had been a giant trap.

  Unusually for Stalin, he had not ordered changes at the top, with the accompanying grave consequences for the former incumbents, although the reason for this might have been that he was distracted by other matters.

  The Allied attacks in central Germany were still progressing, albeit slowly, in the face of some stubborn defensive work by 2nd Red Banner.

  The Italian Front had been seen as causing greater problems for the Allies and yet, so it seemed, the Capitalists were coping remarkably well. Indeed, the logistic issues seemed to be posing more of a problem for his forces than the enemy.

  ‘Yugoslavia.’

  The possibility of Tito’s hordes joining the fight would once have excited him but now, in the face of his logistical nightmares, it did little to promote positive thought.

  ‘So...’

  He listened as the men around him argued more and more, watching more their attitude than taking in what they were saying. It was easier to understand what was in a man’s heart by watching, rather than listening. Lies were easy enough, as he well knew.

  ‘So...’

  He rapped his pipe stem on the table, the clacking sound eventually calling everyone to a respectful and silent order.

  “So... we have been dealt a defeat.”

  He raised his hand to prevent the normal patriotic outpourings from the sycophants, cutting off their protests in an instant.

  “We’ve had setbacks before, and we will have them again, Comrades. What is of great importance to me... and to the people... is how we now deal with this.”

  He cued Beria in with a simple glance.

  “Comrade General Secretary, I have Marshal Konev’s report. He recommends renewing the offensive on all fronts, keeping the pressure on the Allies.”

  “Which we must expect from Konev. He’s a bull... but is it realistic, Comrades?”

  Stalin already understood that it wasn’t, the logistical issues alone preventing it.

  Molotov chipped in knowingly.

  “Surely our logistical problems prevent that from being a possibility, Comrade General Secretary?”

  “Indeed they do, Comrade, but Marshal Konev is thinking too aggressively and, perhaps, not seeing the full picture. We must ensure that our decision is what is right for the Motherland.”

  More than one in the room looked at the Leader, faces expressionless, but surprised by the unusually restrained rhetoric, and the absence of shouting and threats.

  Bulganin cut to the chase.

  “So what is it that you propose, Comrade General Secretary?”

  Stalin paused to relight his pipe, taking in the heavy smoke, his answer already prepared, as was the question he had given to Bulganin before the start of the meeting.

  “I propose that we cease our attacks...”

  He stopped, not because he wanted to but because the hubbub that sprung up prevented him from being heard.

  There had been times, in the German War, when such talk would have earned a trip to Siberia for many, a neck shot for others. To think in such a way had been defeatist and yet, here, now, the General Secretary was making the suggestion himself.

  The noise subsided and he continued.

  �
��We can press on, as Konev suggests... and we will win victories because of the valiant efforts of our soldiers but we will waste our resources piecemeal, as we do not have the logistics to back up our men’s efforts properly.”

  He placed the pipe on the table.

  “Mistakes have been made,” Beria winced, “Our security forces have redoubled their efforts in securing our lines of communication, and the partisan attacks have dropped significantly.”

  Novikov, the Chief of the Air Force, knew what was coming next.

  “Our Air Force has tried to stem the enemy bomber attacks, but has failed. Not due to lack of effort,” the Air Marshal was no less astounded at Stalin’s conciliatory tone than the rest of the room, except Beria, Molotov and Bulganin, who knew what was to come.

  “He stood up slowly and leant forward, taking his weight on his knuckles.

  “No, not due to lack of effort, but because we have not given them the tools with which to fight the Fascists!”

  He slammed his hand on the heavy wooden table, causing more than one man to jump. None mentioned that it was the Capitalists who were the enemy now. Perhaps he meant the few Germans in the equation?

  “Our soldiers have performed courageously, and they have carried most of Germany before them. In a few months of fighting, against the best that the Allies can offer, they sit on the shores of the North Sea, and our Cossacks can water their horses in the Rhine.”

  The nods were universal.

  “We must accept that we do not have the initiative now, as we must accept that we will only get it back if we here give our soldiers, sailors and airmen the weapons to do the job.”

  He stood and leant on his knuckles, a position he adopted only when he had serious points to put over.

  “We must redouble our efforts in production, in transportation, in training,” as he stated each point he selected the face of the responsible person, his eyes giving no quarter in their intensity, “In leadership, and in planning.”

  He sat down again, so quickly that some missed the move.

  “Our men need more of everything... and better of everything... and we shall provide it, and provide it quickly.”

  He lit a cigarette.

  “We have new and improved types tanks, aircraft, and submarines. They must be of good quality, and we must give them to our troops in numbers.”

  Stalin gestured to an NKVD Major stood by the huge double doors.

  The man disappeared immediately.

  “Comrades, I have asked someone to attend us, and give his opinion on matters. Despite some recent difficulties, he has rarely failed us, and his opinion will be useful here.”

  The door clanged shut and all eyes swivelled to see who it was.

  “Reporting as ordered, Comrade General Secretary.”

  Georgy Zhukov looked bright and alert.

  “Thank you, Comrade Zhukov.”

  The Marshal moved forward, placing his notes on the table, but knowing he would not need them.

  “Comrades, I have been asked to review the present situation, and make military-based suggestions as to how best to continue with the defeat of the Capitalists.”

  More than one smiled at the tactful and face-saving statement.

  “I see no option but to discontinue the main attacks at this time. Logistically, we cannot support them, neither in Germany, nor in Italy. Our Yugoslavian Allies have finally stirred, but the same situation exists for them, and we simply do not have the assets to keep them supplied too.”

  “We are producing weapons and materiels at excellent rates, but there are serious issues with quality control, issues that Marshal Beria is addressing with vigour.”

  Everyone knew what that meant.

  “Much of what is produced never gets to our rear echelons, let alone the front line. For example, some types of large calibre artillery shells are in short supply. We produce 120% of the stated requirement each month. In November, 57% arrived with the Army in Europe. Over half went where? Partisans, low standards, accidents, all claimed a portion.”

  “We have trained replacement pilots and shaved time off the programmes, apparently without reducing standards,” he acknowledged Novikov with a small gesture of his head, “And yet the casualties amongst these new airmen is considerably higher than it ever was in the German War. There may be other reasons for that, and I know Marshal Novikov is hard at work to find a solution.”

  “Our Navy has performed miracles in the Atlantic, way beyond what was hoped, and they are to be congratulated. But that is now over, and we will struggle to even maintain our control over the Baltic, unless we give them something more to work with.”

  More than one present wondered if they had any sort of control over the Baltic after the previous day’s events.

  “Our soldiers have performed magnificently, driving back the Capitalists to the Western borders of Germany itself, and sometimes beyond. But they are at the limit of their advance, their capabilities and, in some cases, their endurance.”

  He took the plunge, not sure if the guarantees he had been given would hold good, or whether he was about to become a sacrificial scapegoat on the altar of Stalin’s plans.

  “If we hold now and permit our forces to recover and rearm, build up our resources, gather more intelligence, and plan thoroughly, then our victory is assured.”

  Stalin looked around to see if there were any doubters. One or two hard-liners stood out, but he rapidly convinced himself that there would be no issues.

  “It is my recommendation, based upon my directknowledge of the situation and recent reports, that the main attacks are called off until we can improve the supply situation and provide replacement men and equipment to all our forces in the field. That does not mean that we should not continue to probe and keep the Capitalists off-balance, but we must give our soldiers time to train, re-arm and recover.”

  “Thank you, Comrade Marshal.”

  “If I may, Comrade General Secretary. I was handed this report in error as I waited to be admitted. The contents have a bearing on this meeting.”

  The handed the report to Stalin who read it and, in turn, passed it to Beria.

  The piece of paper, bearing the signature of the Chief Meteorological Officer of the Red Army, was unequivocal.

  The discussion went on for some time after Zhukov had left, but was never in doubt. Not that it had been in doubt from the moment Stalin had decided upon the course of action some hours previously, but he had wished to avoid the normal blood-letting and banishments that went with such matters.

  The vote was taken and there were no dissenters. A quick discussion followed on another matter, and ended in similar agreement.

  An hour later, Konev received his orders and the news that Marshal Zhukov was now placed above him as the new Commander of Soviet Ground Forces.

  As for Yugoslavia, Tito was furious that some of his commanders had launched an unauthorised attack on the Allies, and would have sanctioned those responsible. However, the support he needed for such an action would not have been forthcoming, so he chose the path of Janus.

  On one hand, he permitted the forming of a volunteer army, which he would send to fight with the Russians in due course, having finally halted the attacks on Trieste, and in the other places that had seen flare-ups.

  On the other hand, he sent trusted emissaries to the Allies, with conciliatory messages, citing the British attack as a cause, explaining that he would keep Yugoslavia out of the war, but that he could not prevent a volunteer unit from being formed to fight with the Russians. He deliberately did not mention how big the force would be.

  To Tito, that kept him in play with both sides and, importantly, maintained the borders of his new country.

  1107 hrs, Wednesday, 11th December 1945, Headquarters of SHAEF, Trianon Place Hotel, Versailles, France.

  “Preliminary reports indicate that we’ve given their air force another good going-over this morning. They keep on coming, but less of ‘em, Sir.”

&
nbsp; “Good news, Walter.”

  He had poured a coffee whilst his CoS spoke and pushed the mug across to Bedell-Smith.

  “Thank you, Sir. Navy says that the torpedo boats got in amongst them again last night ,but it got a bit messy. We lost quite a few boats. Cunningham’s pulled them back for now.”

  Both men sampled their drink in silence, Bedell-Smith understanding that Eisenhower was now doing some quality thinking.

  Three officers arrived together, and were silently motioned to chairs. They also knew the routine.

  “So, Spectrum Red has been a success, in as much as we have inflicted heavy casualties on Soviet naval and aviation forces. Our losses have been incredibly light, thank the lord.”

  He motioned Von Vietinghoff towards the coffee service.

  “The Poles will profit from it in time as well,” he spared Rossiter a nod in acknowledgement for his contribution to that side of the planning.

  “On the ground, we are coming to a halt, despite what George says. Will we make Cologne and encircle them?”

  The shaking head betrayed his thoughts on the matter.

  “Do we call the rest of Spectrum off?”

  “No, I don’t think so, Sir.”

  McCreery spoke with an unusual forcefulness.

  “Sir, we’ve just pulled off a magnificent coup against their northern forces, but that cannot cloud our judgement.”

  Eisenhower looked at British General and invited further comments.

  “Sir, I think we must try and complete the opening phase of Spectrum Blue whilst the assets are in place and the men still have the capacity. It’s going to get colder, so my people tell me, and we may get to the point where Mother Nature may dictate to us. I spoke with General Bradley this morning and he shares the same view.”

  He added a quick afterthought.

  “If we stop Blue now, all those French boys will have died for nothing too.”

  McCreery was getting no negativity from his audience and Bradley’s agreement counted for a lot with Ike.

  “The air force can continue their mission regardless, in fact, they must, or months of good work will be lost as the enemy rearms and restocks.”