by Gee, Colin
“First, if I may, Comrade Marshall. My husband Yuri and I both wish to thank you for your kindness in granting him leave.”
Zhukov smiled mischievously.
Wiping his lips dry, the smile remained throughout his words.
“The least I could do for a valuable asset of the Motherland, Comrade Polkovnik,” his mock formality easily seen through by those present.
“Besides, I understand that Starshina Nazarbayev had a choice of documents to rely on.”
“Indeed, Comrade Marshall, that is true, and my husband felt weighed down by them, truly.”
Both men laughed freely, imagining how the man must have felt with such authorisations in his possession.
“In truth, Comrades, he surrendered the document from Comrade Stalin into my possession, so it can be preserved for our family when the war is over. He retains your document, Comrade Marshall, otherwise he would not get back to his unit.”
That prompted Zhukov to speak more sensitively.
“Comrade Polkovnik, your husband’s unit will soon be committing to the front.”
If anything, the Marshall’s voice took on even more of a sympathetic edge.
“I am conscious that you have lost a son already in this war, and that you have three others still serving.”
Nazarbayeva’s face was set, listening, harbouring her own thoughts without external display.
“If you wish it, I can arrange for your husband to be transferred to a rear-line formation, away from the possibility of harm?”
The silence was brief.
“Comrade Marshall. For myself and my husband, I thank you, but that cannot be. Neither of us would accept such a favour when the Motherland needs all her sons,” and she smiled broadly, overcoming her inner grief with humour, “Even the old one’s with bad attitude.”
Zhukov understood and, in truth, he had expected such a reply, but he made the offer none the less, a sign of the esteem he had for the officer in front of him.
“The offer will stand always, Comrade.”
As if by common assent, each cup was drained and set aside.
“Now then, what does the GRU have for me this evening?”
“Comrades, the RAF Bomber attack that was repulsed the other night was apparently called Operation Casino. Your figures on their losses are inaccurate. Here are the actual numbers that we have confirmed so far.”
Zhukov’s figures were supplied under the new regime of factual reporting, the NKVD having spread throughout the Red Banner Army, encouraging commanders to report correctly, an issue highlighted in early air war reporting.
Instead of the two hundred and thirteen confirmed kills, two hundred and seventy-three as reported in the GRU file was significantly higher, and marked an even greater destruction of Bomber Commands capacity to attack.
Handing the file to Malinin, and waiting for his CoS’s startled look, he asked the obvious question, for which Nazarbayeva was ready.
“That is confirmed, Comrade Marshall, straight from an agent placed to gather such information directly.”
Already the Soviet command had anticipated easier night movement and less attacks on laagers, but these figures would mean that such advantages were more likely to be for a longer period.
“The agent should be able to provide us good intelligence, although there is a delay in reporting that will limit the full usefulness of what will come to us.”
“None the less, excellent, Comrade Polkovnik. And, unless I am mistaken, the original intelligence and basic plan came from your office?”
“Yes, I interviewed the British Intelligence Officer Comrade Marshall. The operational concept came about from that and I played my full part, I hope.”
‘No false modesty. I like that.’
Setting the folder aside, he saw a name he recognised on the next.
“Next Comrades, as you are aware, Comrade General Secretary Stalin instructed the GRU and NKVD to combine their skills in a joint operation involving the extraction of intelligence from this German Officer.”
Nazarbayeva passed over the file bearing Ernst-August Knocke’s name.
“The reports show that a GRU officer made contact with Knocke and received information in return for promises regarding the continued well-being of his family.”
Again the file made it over to Malinin.
“There is an issue of information transfer. The product of our arrangement is of a type that would need to be in your hands as quickly as possible. Our departments will work on that, and we have already activated some sleeping agents for an alternate route that is higher risk but should be quicker in servicing the information.”
“And will this Knocke play your game, Comrade Polkovnik?”
Malinin posed the reasonable question, knowing that the world of intelligence offered no guarantees.
“He is playing by the rules at the moment, Comrade General. My agent is at large and unhindered, reporting no undue activity since he first made contact. The NKVD report due to arrive tomorrow mirrors that. Everything points to a smooth operation so far, and one which should reap significant benefits for the Red Army”
Neither senior officer asked, but both wondered, how Tatiana had come by her information on the NKVD report.
“We have had reports that the NKVD agent provocateur plan has borne some fruit, but is overall disappointing in its results, although I believe that the NKVD report may not say that in so many words.”
Neither senior officer asked but both were now dying to know how Tatiana had come by her information on the NKVD report.
“All the German units identified as forming have now mobilised towards the Ruhr.” This was not news to either man, and had been the subject of hours of extra problem solving for them over the last few days.
“Plus unconfirmed reports from agents in the French and English ports state more Germans arriving by sea every day.”
Tatiana sensed the two’s confusion.
“Apologies, Comrades. Released prisoners of war returning from incarceration in the United States and Canada.”
The GRU officer delved into a separate file and retrieved a heavily sanitised document.
“Apologies again that I cannot show you the originals for operational security reasons. These are précis of the reports we have received. Please note that all but one speak of the apparent physically healthy appearance of these men.”
Malinin leaned in towards his boss, so anxious was he to read the reports.
“I am unable to say for sure, but I believe that these ports may have seen the transit of a minimum of thirty thousand German prisoners in the last two weeks.”
An NKVD report had already set out the reinforcements arriving in Europe from the USA and Canada, as well as the shorter cruise from England.
Zhukov sat back in his chair, honouring Nazabayeva by discussing higher military matters in her presence.
“It seems that every day brings them more manpower. The situation is still militarily in our favour, of course. We have more men and equipment, but they seem to be almost manufacturing bodies to throw at us!”
Malinin, not for the first time, found an opportunity to put forward his pet suggestion.
“We have 1st Southern and the Alpine. Is now the time to bring them forward and to hell with the main plan?”
Zhukov pondered, and took advantage of Nazarbayeva’s presence.
“Comrade Polkovnik, the latest on the Italian forces if you please.”
Without the slightest indication of triumphalism, the GRU officer extracted a folder from her collection.
“Comrades, as GRU predicted, all Italian forces have withdrawn behind the military demarcation line. Unconfirmed reports indicate that they are waiting for further indications from us before declaring themselves neutral.”
A second document was extracted from her folder.
“This is a copy of the report Comrade General Pekunin sent to the Foreign Ministry.”
The answer to Zhukov’s q
uestion was satisfactory, and he conceded Malinin’s point.
“It may well be that we will look to alter the master plan Mikhail. But that is not for now. Proceed, Comrade Nazarbayeva.”
She selected a thicker folder entitled ‘Enemy Losses’.
A wad of paper fell before Zhukov’s gaze, listing every major enemy formation known or suspected to have been destroyed or badly damaged since the opening of the war.
Contained within the healthy sized report were casualty figures for air and sea forces too.
In isolation, it made excellent reading for hungry eyes.
However, Tatiana held a thicker report containing the losses sustained by Soviet forces over the same period.
Zhukov’s eyes flicked up from reading about the loss of US reinforcements at sea, catching the title in her hands.
“I am only too well aware of the contents of that report, Comrade Polkovnik.”
She waited unto both men had consumed her information and sat back, satisfied that all was well.
“I am afraid that you may not be aware of the contents of this report, Comrades.”
Zhukov’s eyes narrowed, his senses pricked by the sudden smell of danger.
“I have seen your combat casualty report and it suggests figures that are less than those GRU have, by as much as 10% in some cases.”
A hand appeared, itself sufficient to demand possession of the file.
Malinin rose and retrieved the official Red Army casualty report for comparison.
There were some discrepancies, which were only to be expected in some ways, but there were some glaring problems with the numbers.
“How do you explain this difference in tanks, Comrade Polkovnik?”
“My understanding is that your field reports include all tanks available on the day of the report, and that includes tanks recovered from the field for repair and return.”
“Yes, that is the case, and it always has been, Comrade.”
“It would appear that means that tanks that are recovered but that prove irreparable are lost to this casualty accounting process, meaning...”
Malinin spoke this time, interrupting her flow.
“Meaning that the figures we have for tank strengths are higher than actual strengths in the line.”
“Your commanders make reports on losses, detailed ones that are accurate. When compared with these general reports submitted to higher formation enquiries, the reports on which you base your strengths, we find discrepancies, such as this in tank strength.”
“Ten percent difference!”
The two senior officers exchanged looks, aghast that something so simple could have such an impact.
The higher formations had apparently simplified the process of reporting, merely wishing for numbers to pass on to their own higher controlling formations.
“If I may point out, Comrades, Marshall Bagramyan has continued with the old system and so his returns are within +/- 2%, according to GRU calculations.”
That was of little comfort, as Bagramyan’s 1st Baltic had suffered the most casualties of any front so far.
“Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Comrade Nazarbayeva. Mikhail, no time like the present.”
Malinin understood his boss perfectly and excused himself from the room.
Whilst the CoS commenced a number of haranguing phone calls to Front and Army commanders across Europe, Zhukov decided on more tea.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
Nazarbayeva, in the habit of all messengers in such circumstances, stayed silent, just in case.
The silence went on, with Zhukov deep in thought.
The tea arrived and Zhukov dismissed the orderly, taking advantage of the act of pouring to bring himself back from his un-soviet thoughts.
Taking a sip of his drink, Zhukov adjusted his jacket and looked at Intelligence officer.
“Tell me you have some good news for me, Tatiana,” the use of her name being more indicative of Zhukov’s distraction and annoyance than anything else.
“Comrade Marshall, the NKVD report you will see tomorrow will not include all matters of relevance regarding production, supply and reinforcement.”
“Go on.”
Behind his eyes, Tatiana could see the smouldering embers come to life, a growing fire of anger she had not seen before, yet spoken of in hushed whispers by others less fortunate than she.
“Ukrainian separatists continue to cause problems with the rail network. This week alone they have derailed or destroyed eight trains carrying supplies and equipment to the front.”
That the figure was in excess of his briefing was apparent in Zhukov’s silence. The fire spread inside.
“German partisan attacks are on the increase as you are aware, but the increase in security combined with the centralisation of supply seems to have reduced their effectiveness.”
That was not news to the man.
“NKVD inspection teams descended upon Chelyabinsk and made examples amongst some of the senior staff. Production has fallen by nearly 20% in the last two weeks, mainly lost in IS-2 and 3 output, and the new IS-4 production line will not be completed for some time to come it seems.”
“Go on.”
“The production of bridging equipment has increased since you insisted on it, but quality control has declined. So much so that our NKVD comrades have put units in place to ensure maintenance of production and standards. Unfortunately, they have shot a number of senior factory employees responsible for standards and, as of last Wednesday, the main factory has ceased production following a fire that is suspected to be arson.”
The conflagration in Zhukov’s head was now raging out of control.
“Tell me that is it, please Comrade. There is no more of this.”
Tatiana took the plunge.
“Your request to employ Soviet prisoners of war who are engineering skilled is to be refused. Both the NKVD and GKO see such an acceptance of surrendered personnel as undermining the fighting spirit of the Red Army.”
Total meltdown.
“Are they fucking mad? Do they not have fucking eyes and ears? I, we...”, he brought his breathing under control, “The Motherland needs those men, and their skills, and we need them now.”
Holding her ground, Nazarbayeva spoke firmly.
“I state the position of the GKO and NKVD on the matter, Comrade Marshall.”
The door opened and in came Malinin, attracted by the sudden raised voices. He nodded to his commander, indicating that the wheels had been set in motion
The momentary lapse now history, Zhukov spoke softly.
“My apologies, Comrade Polkovnik.”
She said nothing, only surprised that he had bothered to apologise at all.
“Listen to this, Mikhail,” and he beckoned Tatiana into a repeat.
Malinin was as appalled as his boss, but didn’t have the luxury of venting himself as Zhukov had done.
Professionalism rallied and extinguished the flames in an instant.
“Right, enough. I will tackle this and the other issues tomorrow in Moscow. Which of these reports can I officially have, Comrade Nazarbayeva.”
“I will be in Moscow tomorrow presenting all of these reports myself, Comrade Marshall.”
“All?”
“Of course. How can Comrade Stalin and the GKO make proper decisions if their information is flawed?”
“Such an attitude is excellent, but you do understand that Comrade Beria already seems to hate you, and pulling his NKVD report apart will be tantamount to a declaration of war?”
Both Zhukov and Malinin noticed the firmer set in her features and the resolution in her voice.
“We are at war with the capitalists and we must win, so I will take the risk of Comrade Beria’s wrath to ensure that the Motherland is best served, Comrade Marshall.”
‘Balls of steel!’
“You will accompany me tomorrow then, Comrade Polkovnik. I am leaving at 0630 hrs.”
“I
am on the same flight, Comrade Marshall.”
“Is there anything else, Comrade?”
Tatiana considered saying nothing, but she felt her relationship with the great man was such that she could share something less tangible with him.
“Yes Sir. I have a feeling that something is not as it seems with Spain. I have little to go on but a gut feeling and some low-level reports, but my instincts are telling me there is trouble ahead.”
Zhukov, understanding that the woman had offered up a feeling based on intuition, recognised it as the privilege it was, and acted appropriately.
“What sort of trouble are you thinking of, Comrade?”
“At the moment, we have neutralised Spain. The NKVD are bragging about an operation they ran that brought Franco into a neutral position, removing the Spanish Army from the equation.”
“Yes, so I heard. What operation?”
“As yet I do not know, Comrade Marshall, which in itself is unusual. Combine that with the fact my prime informants have dropped out of sight and there are some unusual circumstances in Spain.”
“So, what makes your intuition tell you there is a problem?”
“Little things, like the possibility that some Allied merchant vessels still dock in Spanish ports, possibly with cargoes unloaded clandestinely. The absence of any information from GRU and NKVD agents in north-west Spain, and I mean absolutely nothing at all, Comrades.”
“And?”
Zhukov pushed, knowing there was more.
“And a report from a low-level agent who describes an officer staying incognito in a modest villa on the outskirts of Saint Germain-de-la-Grange, which is near Versailles.”
‘Not bad from memory, Tatiana.’
“She is a cleaner and received an unfamiliar uniform to prepare, and her report seems to describe perfectly the uniform of a Spanish Army General.”
Zhukov exchanged looks with Malinin, but neither ventured a comment.
“If I get further information, I will report it immediately, Comrade Marshall.”
Standing to mark the end of proceedings, Zhukov ran his fingers across his pate.
“Thank you, Comrade Polkovnik. An excellent, if not unwelcome report.”
Malinin moved to the door and opened it for the GRU officer, again, not something he ever did for run of the mill Colonels.
