by Gee, Colin
Only Zhukov and Nazarbayeva wondered how many would die by that order this very night.
“Continue, Comrade, continue.”
Acknowledging her leader with a nod, Nazarbayeva moved into the next area.
“The Spanish are having some difficulties in organising the Blue Division, and the independent brigade. It seems they will not be ready for some time. Most estimates give them two weeks before crossing the border, although one of our agents within the division itself believes they could still march within a week.”
Without any degree of triumph, Nazarbayeva continued.
“GRU predictions were correct, and we understand that over 180,000 ex-German and Italian small arms have been provided to the Spanish Army, complete with ammunition, as well as a large number of captured artillery pieces and vehicles. Also we can confirm that thirty-seven German tanks crossed into Spain during the Patriotic War, but we are presently unable to confirm types.”
Beria examined the woman for signs of gloating at his discomfort, but could see none.
‘Very wise, you fucking bitch,’ he thought, unable to contemplate the possibility that Nazarbayeva had no intention of embarrassing him and was solely delivering her best interpretation of intelligence.
“Our government agent confirms that the Spanish plan is to re-equip their expeditionary corps initially, and then as much of the rest of their army as possible. This will have the effect of slowing their committal to battle, which is a plus for us, whilst undoubtedly making them more effective when they do arrive, which is not.”
A fair interpretation to Zhukov’s mind, and he already understood that Nazarbayeva stood by her agents so he would go with that.
“One other matter relating to Spain, Comrade Marshall.”
He looked up, only to realise that the GRU officer was speaking directly to Beria.
“Our main agent speaks of a possible covert operation run in the Madrid area, which has resulted in the death of one of his supportive contacts, and brought unnecessary attention to his door.”
Beria felt his bile rise.
‘Bitch! You dare to chastise me?’
The momentary flash in his eyes was quickly suppressed and missed by all in the room.
‘Anyway, NKVD’s contact Tatiana,’ smugly reminded himself.
“Apparently a woman was found brutally murdered in unusual circumstances, a woman who, we now discover, was being watched by the Spanish Secret Service because of her known communist links and open romantic episodes with certain high government officials, our agent included.”
Beria’s angry silence was noted by Stalin and Zhukov, although only one knew the facts that were troubling the NKVD head.
“The woman was sympathetic to our cause and willingly offered information to our agent, often giving him cause to believe that she was already working for another similar organisation.”
‘NKVD had one of your agents, and not for the first time, and not the only one in Spain either, my little Lieutenant Colonel.’
The faintest smile warped Beria’s lips, which he swiftly hid with his teacup.
“Apparently, the woman was grossly violated after death and Spanish investigators are proceeding on the assumption that it was done to mask the real motive, and are also assuming that motive is related to her possible espionage activities. Especially as she was known to have associated with a group of strangers in a Madrid hotel on the day of her death, strangers that have since disappeared.”
Silence was still the NKVD Marshall’s only response.
“Indications are that the group have German origins, something that has caused a great deal confusion in Spanish investigative minds.”
Both Zhukov was surprised by that, and failed to notice that neither Stalin nor Beria shared it.
“Our information does not support any involvement from the Germans, Comrade Marshall.”
Beria shrugged.
“If this is part of an NKVD covert operation, it has placed GRU’s highly placed agent at risk.”
Finally animated, the spectacled officer leant forward.
“Do not presume to lecture me on covert operations, Comrade PodPolkovnik. You are here to brief.”
Beria leant back again and threw an expansive hand gesture at the GRU officer.
“So, brief us, and leave your personal accusations at home.”
Naïve possibly, but more really just possessing the strength to stand up for herself.
“Apologies, Comrade Marshall, but I convey the words of General Pekunin, who was very precise. This apparent NKVD operation has exposed GRU’s highest placed Spanish agent to risk. That agent is now discontinuing his communications until the investigative activity has ceased. So we have lost our best contact at a crucial time.”
Zhukov was sure that Pekunin would not have wished his officer to be quite so precise, and he felt wary for the woman.
Beria gathered himself for another verbal assault, but was cut off before he could start.
“Comrade, PodPolkovnik. GRU is correct to be angry that a highly placed agent may have been placed at risk. I am sure that Comrade Marshall Beria will investigate this thoroughly and inform us of his findings.”
Beria nodded in deference to his chief, again finding himself put on the spot by this GRU woman.
Strangely, Stalin decided to defend his man, speaking of something that had been previously agreed would remain unspoken.
“I will tell you that events in Spain are about to take a positive turn, thanks to investigations made by Marshall Beria’s men. I can say no more for now.”
Stalin settled back into his chair and invited Nazarbayeva to continue.
“The Italian situation is not presently clear, despite our best efforts to understand their minds. I actually believe they presently do not know exactly what they intend to do, Comrade General Secretary.”
That drew a snort from both Beria and Zhukov, the Italians being everybody’s whipping boy.
“The secret offer made by the Foreign Ministry should certainly cause some division in their ranks. However, one piece of intelligence may indicate some good news for us.”
Referring to her folder, Nazarbayeva listed the Italian formations that presently served within the Allied forces.
“The Italian government has requested that these combat groups, and all other support units under British commander Alexander, be permitted to journey to holding areas near Livorno, Florence and Rimini, with the expectation that they be returned to Italian authority, and with a view to creating an independent Italian Army.”
Whilst this was not completely new information to her audience, her interpretation of the intelligence certainly was.
“By removing the Groups and the support units, the Italians are physically weakening the Allies Italian Force. They must know this. Therefore it is my conclusion that the Italians are withdrawing their fighting troops prior to declaring neutrality.”
This time it was Zhukov who spoke first, challenging the impressive Amazon.
“On what basis do you make that conclusion, Comrade PodPolkovnik? Why can they not be forming an Italian Army to fight us?”
“Comrade Marshall, it would appear to be a simple matter of geography.”
Nazarbayeva produced an uncomplicated sketch of Northern Italy from her folder and passed it across to Stalin.
It was minimally marked, and simply demonstrated her point.
“At a time when Allied resources must be under pressure, the Italians are expending vast quantities to bring their forces together on the blue line.”
Both Beria and Zhukov craned their necks to see that the Blue line ran from west to east across Italy, running through the three cities Nazarbayeva had cited.
“To our thinking, the most natural place to assemble, given the present locations of their units, would be the triangle Modena, Ferrara to Bologna. It would also make more military sense to keep your assets nearer to the potential point of need.”
Zhukov agreed
for the same reasons the GRU officer had just cited; he had simply wanted to hear her reasoning and to understand if he had missed something in his swift appraisal.
“I can agree with your assessment, Comrade Nazarbayeva. It makes sense. Is there something within the Foreign Ministry briefing which would support this view, Comrade Marshall?”
Beria found himself the unwelcome focal point of attention, three pairs of eyes boring into him, one solely for the amusement of seeing him uncomfortable, as their owner knew well what the others did not.
“As you know we have offered to respect Italian neutrality if declared in good time, but have reserved the right to force combat on any Allied Divisions that fight on Italian soil. The Italian Government would, as part of the protocol, order Allied forces from their territory.”
Without a conscious thought, his glasses were in his hand, handkerchief polishing carefully, almost as prop to his spirit as he spoke further.
“Discussions have addressed a number of issues. Our right of march across an area of Northern Italy to permit access to Southern France, technological assistance and reparations, in gold, for any damage caused.”
He paused, breathed rapidly on both lenses and resumed his polishing.
“Repatriation of all Italian prisoners of war within two months of the declaration of neutrality.”
Replacing his glasses, he chose to look the GRU officer in the eye.
“Guarantees of military aid and trade agreements, sovereignty over certain areas of Africa so recently coveted, but lost. Sovereignty over areas of Southern France once enemy resistance is broken.”
Beria sneezed violently, sending three blobs of spittle in Nazarbayeva’s direction.
“We have also declared a weapons-free attack zone where any forces are liable to attack by our aircraft.”
He placed his hand theatrically upon Nazarbayeva’s map and turned it so it was facing Stalin. His eyes did not leave those of Nazarbayeva, his words directed at Stalin and Zhukov, but his negative emotion all for the GRU officer.
“The zone is defined by a line drawn across their country from Viareggio to Cervia.”
A swift examination of the map was sufficient to demonstrate that the rally point set by the Italian government fell on the safe side of that line.
Silence is a worrying thing, especially in a room full of powerful people. Zhukov broke into it, his mind already asset stripping from the formations that were due to crash into the Allied forces there.
“Then I can only agree with the GRU assessment here. It seems that Italy will be brilliantly neutralised by our Foreign Ministry.”
“Good work, then we can leave Italy and proceed onto other matters.”
Stalin drew a line under the ‘Italian’ assessment and lit a cigarette, noticing Nazarbayeva’s pained look.
“Your wound is hurting, Comrade PodPolkovnik?”
“I can bear it, thank you, Comrade General Secretary. If I may continue to the military balance?”
A gentle coughing prohibited the Generallisimo speaking, so he managed a wave of assent instead.
“Comrade Marshall Zhukov suggested that I refer to the NKVD assessment of enemy forces, which you have already seen and which mirrors the GRU assessment in all important areas. Unless there is anything specific you require, Comrade General Secretary, GRU can add nothing to that but….”
She meant nothing by the words, save their face value, but Beria perceived deeper meaning and interrupted with unconcealed sarcasm.
“Thank you for your endorsement, Comrade Nazarbayeva. It is nice to know the NKVD can get something right to GRU’s satisfaction.”
“Again my apologies, Comrade Marshall, I meant no criticism.”
Zhukov kept his smile to himself but he could not help but admire this woman who did not seem to waver. None the less, he decided to rescue her.
“You said but.”
“Yes, Comrade Marshall Zhukov. The NKVD assessment of Allied forces is correct, but omits a new German force that is presently being formed in France.”
When Zhukov and Nazarbayeva had arrived at the Kremlin, an officer had been waiting to hand over an urgent report to the GRU Lieutenant-Colonel, and she had scant seconds to pass on some of her new knowledge to the Red Banner Forces Commander; but not enough for him to give his two superiors any hint in his own brief.
Beria took advantage of the opportunity he had apparently been offered, leant across and selected a large round biscuit from the silver platter, quickly taking a bite and spraying crumbs in all directions.
“I assume you speak of the German Naval personnel presently forming at the French Ports? My sources inform me that even the Allies do not know how to use these assets yet. These are mentioned in our report.”
“No Comrade Marshall, I refer to other new German forces in France.”
Stalin sat gently puffing his pipe, as always enjoying the spectacle of his underlings in confrontation.
Beria stood but gained no height advantage over the woman. He gestured at the wall map.
“Comrade PodPolkovnik, we have reports of thirteen to fifteen German divisions assembling in France and Italy, most under the leadership of one-time General Guderian. We have more reports of German air regiments, possibly as many as fifteen, also in the making, and again mostly in France.”
He picked up the NKVD report and the GRU report and dropped both dramatically onto the table.
“We even agree on the naval personnel issue, do we not?”
Not waiting for an answer, he sat down again.
“What new force can the Germanski possibly conjure up now?”
Nazarbayeva coughed slightly as the first stages of a viral infection made themselves known.
“Comrade General Secretary, my apologies. I received an urgent report as I attended this building, so have only one copy. If I may read it to you?”
Stalin gestured his acceptance.
“This is from a GRU agent called Leopard, whom we have undercover in the Allied Forces. He is presently with the French First Army in Southern Germany. It was he who located the fourth symposium.”
The agent’s credentials established, she read on.
“He reports of a clandestine assembly and training area run by the French, centring on the village of Sassy, south-west of Paris.”
Zhukov, whilst aware of the punch line, took in every word of the journey to it.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Beria’s dismissive wave.
“Part of the build-up we have already identified obviously. Nothing to worry about. The name is included in our list of such assembly areas.”
Zhukov was puzzled by that. Beria was being very unBeria-like, committing himself without certain knowledge, apparently all because of the effect of the woman in front of him.
‘Strange.’
“Unfortunately not, Comrade Marshall. GRU had made the same assumption, but it appears we were both wrong.”
Stalin struck a match, punctuating the moment with an unspoken but very real full stop.
Puffing on his cigarette he leant forward, placing his elbows gently on the table, his look inviting her to continue.
“Comrade General Secretary. The Sassy facilities are run under the auspices of the French Foreign Legion. The Germans in question are to be formed into a corps of at least four divisions with support units for offensive combat operations.”
Even though he had heard it before, the hasty snatched exchange with Nazarbayeva in the lobby having given him a heads-up, the full revelation still hit Zhukov like an electric shock.
“Comrade General Secretary. They are forming divisions of their Foreign Legion from the SS.”
Beria realised that if his agency had missed this one then it was a bad error, so he wisely stayed silent.
It was left to Stalin to ask the necessary questions.
“Can this agent be trusted, Comrade Nazarbayeva? Really trusted?”
“Yes, I will stake my position on it, Comrade General
Secretary.”
Beria half-smiled, in the knowledge that she was staking much more than that on it, had she the sense to realise her position.
“When will they be ready?”
“According to Leopard’s best guess, all units can move into action within a week minimum. He emphasises that is a guess, but an informed guess.”
After a moment’s pause Stalin extinguished his cigarette and leant back in his chair, his fingers stroking his moustache back into place.
“Comrade Marshall Zhukov?”
“Any division of German’s is something of note to us, Comrade General Secretary. I’m sure no-one forgets how these SS bastards fought, but four divisions will do little to the balance of power. More would be a problem for sure. None the less, we will have to heed their presence, and I will be surprised if the Allies use them just to sit around doing nothing.”
“Meaning what, Comrade?”
“Meaning I will be surprised if they are not employed on the assault, Comrade General Secretary. I would use the devils in such a role.”
Beria ventured his opinion.
“Then they were politically motivated. Now they would not be, so would they be any better than the average Germanski swine?”
Stalin was singularly amused to watch both Zhukov and Nazarbayeva look in disbelief at the NKVD leader, the former speaking swiftly, partially to spare the latter from more retribution.
“The average Germanski reached the gates of Moscow wearing a flimsy summer tunic, and holding a weapon too frozen to fire, Comrade Marshall. The average Germanski reached the banks of the Volga. He is not to be underestimated. And these men were not average Germanski.”
Stalin, ever playful when it came to watching his henchman placed in an uncomfortable position, sought the GRU officer’s view on the matter.
“Comrade General Secretary, I could only give you my opinion as this is fresh information.”
“Then do so. How do you see this, Comrade PodPolkovnik, without frills?”
“Comrade Marshall Zhukov is wholly correct. The German is a good soldier but the SS had something extra. I see no reason to believe that the absence of political motivation from the National Socialism cause will undermine their will and ability to fight.”
