by Gee, Colin
“Not at this time. They are about as trustworthy as a bag of snakes.”
And, by way of confirmation of the decision, Malinin read a paragraph from a report by the Chief Engineer Officer of 1st Baltic Front.
“It appears likely that not all apparatus requested has been made available, and that considerable amounts of that which has been reassigned from the Poles, as well as the equipment recovered by the Polish engineers, appears to be excessively worn, even damaged.”
Receiving nothing more than a knowing look, he continued.
“NKVD is not acting at this time, for obvious reasons, but we may not be able to ignore the issue for much longer. Bagramyan has requested a large number of their armoured vehicles as replacements for his own force. That will give us a further indication as to loyalties.”
“Indeed Comrade. Enough of the Poles for now. What is your conclusion on the matter of bridging engineers?”
“We simply will not have the assets to successfully cross the Rhine as matters stand.”
That was guaranteed to get the Commander-in-Chief’s attention. Silence ensued as Zhukov reread the figures.
“I agree. Vasilevsky?”
“His assets were depleted at the start, Comrade Marshall. If he loses any more, his ability offensively will be greatly reduced.”
Wiping his bald pate with his right hand, Zhukov considered the problem.
“One for STAVKA to ponder, Malinin. Have the written request for more resources prepared immediately.”
The CoS made the appropriate record in his notes.
“Anywhere else we can get assets from?”
Malinin shook his head as he spoke.
“We have stripped out Central and Southern areas to the absolute bare minimums, to nothing in some cases. On my authority, all units are being circulated with orders to remove any officers or men with bridging experience from their roster and transfer them to Army command from where they can be appropriately allocated.”
“Good work, Malinin. That should give us something extra to work with, although I hope it doesn’t disrupt the parent units too much.”
The CoS shrugged as the priority now was bridging engineers, not tanks or infantry.
Zhukov stood and tugged down his tunic.
“I will be flying back to Moscow this afternoon and I will bring this to the attention of STAVKA. Make sure those reports,” he indicated Malinin’s written list, “Are ready as soon as possible. Maybe I will return with more positive news?”
Malinin tidied up the papers and hurried away to get the necessary orders drafted.
As he reached the door, he was almost bowled over by a staff Lieutenant-Colonel.
“Apologies, Comrade Polkovnik General.”
“Well what has got you so excited, Garimov?”
The man brandished a message sheet.
“I need to see Comrade Marshall Zhukov, Sir.”
Malinin stepped aside, allowing the excited officer to enter the room.
Snapping to attention in front of his commander, Garimov offered up a radio message slip, which Zhukov took and read.
The Chief of Staff silently enquired of Garimov, his probing look seeking out the nature of the news that was making his commander smile.
The Lieutenant-Colonel addressed him with equal formality.
“Sir,” heard a satisfied Malinin, “Marshall Bagramyan reports Hamburg has fallen.”
Zhukov took his place on the aircraft, a genuine lend-lease American C-47, and immediately felt it lurch as the aircrew received clearance for take-off, right on the appointed time of 1230 hrs.
He checked his watch and did the maths. His briefing for the General Secretary scheduled for that evening.
‘Four hour time differential. A six and a half hour flight, briefing and then flight back.’
He would be absent from his command post for a number of hours but would be back before the central European day fully awakened.
Onboard with him were his travelling personal staff of four officers, plus a number of others from various branches of the Red Army, returning to Moscow for reasons ranging from attending Communist party meetings to sorting out the logistics of total war.
The combat soldiers amongst the passengers were easily discernible, as they quickly fell asleep, observing the soldier’s maxim of ‘get it while you can.’
Zhukov grinned.
‘Old soldiers never lose that ability’.
Within a few minutes, only four Political Officers, an NKVD Major, and the GRU Lieutenant-Colonel sat opposite him were still awake, the first five being involved in a theoretical political debate that reminded Zhukov why he avoided such inane matters. The latter was deep in thought, studying a number of reports.
The Commander of the Red Banner Forces of Soviet Europe took time to observe the GRU officer more closely and before he drifted off into a deep sleep he had posed himself the question of how a GRU Lieutenant-Colonel had won the Hero of the Soviet Union award.
His prolonged snore interrupted the GRU officer’s line of thought.
Putting the folders back in a small pigskin briefcase, Nazarbayeva decided to get some sleep to help her prepare for her briefing with the General Secretary that evening.
Settling herself down, she eased the boot on her damaged foot a few centimetres for comfort, and was asleep in an instant.
Nazarbayeva woke to the sound of urgent muffled voices opposite, and her senses quickly cleared to take in what was happening.
An Air Force Lieutenant was in the process of explaining the reasons behind a diversion to a different airfield to an unhappy Marshall Zhukov. The small military strip at Ostafievo was now their destination.
Enquiring of the harassed man as he returned to the cockpit, Nazarbayeva established that Vnukovo was closed indefinitely due to a ground incident.
“Govno!”
A chuckle came from the seat opposite, Marshall Zhukov amused that such a beauty was capable of combat soldiers language. But then, he mused, he should not be surprised at all, as the woman had obviously once been a combat soldier herself.
“As you say, Comrade PodPolkovnik, as you say.”
“Apologies, Comrade Marshall, but my transport will be waiting at Vnukovo and I have an important briefing to give in Moscow.”
Zhukov was not normally disposed to acts of charity but something about the female Officer interested him, and it was not her extremely obvious beauty and charms.
“I too am going to Moscow, and there will be vehicles waiting for me at Ostafievo. Perhaps you would like to accompany me and give me the GRU’s impressions of our campaign to date?”
“Thank you, Sir. I’m sure I can assist the Comrade Marshall”
Something about her simple reply puzzled Zhukov. She seemed undaunted by his seniority, a rare attribute in the Red Army.
“Excellent. I am called to the Kremlin for 8pm”, taking an automatic look at his watch, “For a meeting with the General-Secretary, so we should have time to drop you wherever you need, Comrade?”
“My appointment lies in the same place. I am ordered to brief the General-Secretary and Marshall Beria. As is normally the case for me, I have no time allotted, so I suspect I will simply follow you, Comrade Marshall.”
Zhukov nodded, his respect for the woman increased as no fools ever crossed that threshold more than once, and his understanding of her calm acceptance of his offer of a lift was complete.
‘If she can stand before those two, then she certainly won’t be worried about sharing a car with her Commander-in-Chief.’
“Excellent Comrade, PodPolkovnik. Now, before we land perhaps you might give me your name and tell me how you came by that pretty trinklet?”
Zhukov pointed a finger at her Gold Star.
“Yes Comrade Marshall. I am PodPolkovnik Tatiana Nazarbayeva of Polkovnik General Pekunin’s personal staff, and I got this on the Kerch.”
Zhukov felt strangely, and for him, worryingly at ease with the female off
icer as she spoke modestly of her combat operations.
So much so that their conversation shifted smoothly into the GRU assessment of the present combat operations and the first he knew that they were on the ground was the hard bump of a poor landing from a fatigued pilot.
Zhukov and his staff swept off the aircraft, speeding towards two ex-Wehrmacht Horsch 108 staff cars, sat idling on the apron.
Nazarbayeva assembled her files and briefcase, and then moved swiftly after the hurrying group, her limp becoming more noticeable as her pace increased.
Despite the promises he made to himself as he hurried from the aircraft, something made Zhukov turn and beckon the GRU officer into his car, turning her from the second vehicle to which she had been heading.
The conversation struck up again, the woman’s analysis excellent, her observations reasonable and well thought out.
Only when the Horsch halted at the gates of the Kremlin did the exchange of views and information cease.
Dismounting from the vehicle, Zhukov wished her well and formally took his leave, receiving an immaculate salute from Nazarbayeva.
Striding up the stairs, his staff keeping pace behind him, he wondered if he would ever see the woman again, not knowing that his life and hers were, from that moment, inextricably linked.
Zhukov had given his presentation to the GKO, and received assurances as to replacement weapons, materiel and personnel across the board. The failure to adhere to the assault timetable had been explained and, unusually, accepted without histrionics and threats. The normal vitriol was directed against those who were behind the lines, and whose failures contributed to the engineering and equipment shortages, plus those who were failing to ensure safety in the logistical tail.
That meant that the bald Marshall had the rare pleasure of seeing Beria hounded by the General Secretary for the failure of his NKVD security force to protect rail lines and bridges. Such pleasures were best sampled without showing satisfaction, as the wounded Beria was a beast to fear.
The meeting was closed and the GKO dissolved, some to instigate the decisions of the meeting, others to their homes and beds, leaving solely Stalin and Beria with Zhukov.
Beria, still smarting from the admonishments he had recently received, sat silently and obviously deep in thought.
The General Secretary hid his amusement and ordered more tea.
“Comrade Marshall, the GRU will be giving us a briefing shortly. It will be of interest to you I have no doubt.”
“Yes Comrade General Secretary, I travelled here with the GRU officer in question. I gave her a lift to the Kremlin as our plane was diverted and she had no vehicle.”
“Ah, so you have met our Nazarbayeva. Your thoughts?”
Zhukov didn’t need to think.
“A remarkable woman for sure, Comrade General Secretary.”
Stalin waved his pipe stem at the still silent Beria, a moment of rare humour surfacing.
“Marshall Beria seems to think so too.”
The eyes flicked up to look at Stalin and quickly went down again, but Zhukov saw enough to understand in their coldness that Nazarbayeva had an implacable enemy in the NKVD chief.
“Let us see what she brings to us this evening. Lavrentiy.”
The Generalissimo motioned his man to the phone and felt satisfaction that he was obviously still hurting.
The summons was issued and Beria slipped back into his seat as Stalin beckoned Zhukov to a chair by his side, the three sat together almost as judges in a court, a sight which caused Nazarbayeva a moment’s pause as she entered.
Stalin, strangely affable, motioned the GRU officer forward with his pipe.
“Comrade PodPolkovnik. I understand from Comrade Marshall Zhukov that you are already acquainted?”
“Yes Comrade General Secretary, that is correct.”
“Excellent. Formalities over. Please begin.”
“GRU sources in London inform us that the British will shortly be able to field a new force of a minimum of four full Infantry and one tank division formed from men who were, until recently, prisoners of the Germans. They can also rejuvenate existing divisions by bringing units up to full strength.”
This was not news to anybody in the room and had been anticipated.
“Our information is that in basic infantry terms the British will profit from the fact that they made few technological advances during their war years, and so we should expect the new formations to be as effective as their existing ones are proving.”
Zhukov could understand that, and an almost imperceptible nod gave Nazarbayeva encouragement.
“Unless the British use older vehicles, the new tank division will probably not be ready for deployment for some time to come. We cannot assess that precisely.”
Neither had the NKVD report Beria had submitted some hours before.
Nazarbayeva moved immediately into a thorny area.
“Comrade General Secretary, we have uncovered a problem. RAF losses, indeed allied air losses in general, are not as reported.”
A moment’s pause as the information was absorbed.
“Go on, Comrade,” Stalin’s voice bereft of its usual cutting edge for once.
“A GRU officer gained valuable paper intelligence from an RAF base the army overran, and we have compared that to our own air force’s claims. Allied losses were actually just over half of what was being submitted in our Regiment’s reports.”
Zhukov replaced his tea cup and spoke bluntly.
“An isolated case, Comrade?”
The GRU officer shook her head as she spoke.
“Unfortunately not, Comrade Marshall. Once this came to light, I ordered a further examination of captured enemy air force records and compared them with our own stated claims. From memory, the best case was a claim of ten, when the real number was eight shot down. On one occasion, a regimental commander claimed ten enemy aircraft destroyed when the RAF record clearly states solely one loss due to air combat.”
Pausing for a moment, Nazarbayeva delivered a killer line.
“There were no instances when our claims were equal or less than recorded allied losses, Comrade General Secretary.”
Zhukov remained silent, absorbing what he had just been told. Beria remained silent as his report had made no mention of this possibility whatsoever.
Stalin spoke first.
“Propaganda, Comrade Colonel?”
Zhukov was impressed. Many officers would hedge their bets at this point but not this one, the reply bold, clear and unequivocal.
“No Comrade General Secretary. These are Squadron and, in one case, Wing records. These would be a true reflection of events. To do otherwise would be lunacy.”
Zhukov took the lead, although he suspected he knew the answer to his question.
“So, if that is true, what does GRU think is the present status of the Allied air forces?”
“Comrade Marshall, intelligence has seen a marked reduction in enemy air activities over the course of the campaign. I believe we have allowed ourselves to ally this reduction with the figures our air regiments have quoted for their losses, rather than think through the whole situation.”
A soft cough and Nazarbayeva ploughed onwards.
“Our attacks on the 6th caught them by surprise, and we caused great casualties, as well as inflicting damage to facilities. Clearly the effectiveness of the allied air forces dropped. However, I believe we have overstated the casualty effect and underestimated the disruption effect. They are sorting out their logistics and organisation, and I believe that this is why we are now seeing an increase in the tempo of their air operations, combined with new units arriving almost daily.”
Selecting a single page document, Nazarbayeva produced three copies, handing over her own to Zhukov and proceeding from memory.
“Comrade General Secretary, these figures were received an hour before I left Headquarters. On the left-hand column you will see estimates of enemy air strength based upon claims from our
Regiments. On the right you will see the figures supplied by a GRU agent within the RAF.”
The figures were, if true, a disaster in the making.
“We have claimed that in air and ground combat over 50% of the enemy aircraft available on 6th August have been destroyed, and that reinforcements have been slow in arriving, boosting that overall figure to no more than 55% remaining.”
Zhukov was only barely listening as the figures were in his hand and screaming at him.
“The reality is that their air force is presently between 75-80% of 6th August figures. It is important to remember that this figure also includes large numbers of heavy bombers, so the equation between fighters, fighter-bombers and light to medium bombers is more favourable than it would otherwise have been.”
No-one there failed to understand that these figures were disastrous, if true.
“And your source, Comrade PodPolkovnik? How accurate are these figures? Could your agent be playing games for both sides here?”
Beria leant back again, observing that his questions had given the woman a moment’s pause.
“This agent provided us with accurate information throughout the German war. He is well placed and trusted. More importantly, he is an ideological agent and does what he does because he believes in our common cause. If he were compromised, I am certain he would use the appropriate code and inform us.”
No give at all in her position. Zhukov, whilst pained by the revelations, could not help but be impressed by Nazarbayeva’s straight-forward delivery. At the same time, there was a dangerous naivety to her approach.
Stalin made his directions.
“One for you, Comrade Marshall,” gesturing at Beria, “Get your men out to the air regiments and ensure that we get the right information in future. Punish anyone who has been in error.”
He raised his hand to cut off Zhukov’s objection, and paused for a moment. Softly and in acknowledgement of the Marshall’s unspoken protest, he continued.
“Only those who have been grossly in error, Lavrentiy. We have lost too many experienced commanders already. Shoot only those who have deliberately lied to us.”
