by Gee, Colin
“The NKVD disagrees with you, Comrade Colonel.”
“Perhaps they have seen information that I have not Comrade-General Secretary? Maybe the GRU has information that the NKVD does not. My report is based on all information available to the GRU, Comrade General-Secretary. ”
She stood her ground, something not lost on either man.
“Very well, you may explain yourself Colonel.”
Drawing heavily on his pipe, he relaxed his frame back into the chair.
“Comrades, the Spanish Army presently consists of no more than twenty-five understrength divisions under arms, with the possibility of mobilising a maximum of two hundred-thousand more men, making their existing divisions properly constituted within a minimum of forty-eight days of any decision.”
Beria was mentally ticking off the points contained within his report, and thus far, Nazarbayeva was mirroring the NKVD submission. He had not seen the GRU document but expected no surprises.
“The Blue Division, whose membership is experienced as we know, is being mobilised as we speak and it is anticipated that it will start to move forward within fourteen days. It is also possible that sufficient personnel may be found amongst veterans of the unit to form an additional smaller formation, possibly of brigade size.”
Tatiana was relating all from memory and had just scored one point over Beria’s report.
“This force will be deployed under American command, and we understand is most likely to enter Germany north of the Swiss border, into an area of some interest to our Generals.”
Another tick.
“This force is unlikely to pose a huge problem for our armies but will have significant propaganda value to the Allies.”
And again.
“It is our assessment that this unit, or pair of units, would most likely be equipped with captured German weapons from allied stocks in the south of France, with no need for huge training as most members would be familiar with whatever equipment they are given.”
‘Keep going Colonel, you are doing very well,’ came the thought, the spectacled face betraying nothing.
“Estimate that these Spanish soldiers will be capable of deployment into combat by the end of the month.”
‘Close enough.’
“The remainder of the Spanish Army is of little import at first look, ill-equipped, poorly officered, and lacking in spirit.”
Again, from memory she summoned accurate figures as she carried on.
“Documents recovered from the Spanish Embassy in Berlin indicate that they officially received twenty Panzer IV tanks and ten self-propelled guns from German production.”
Coughing gently, she moistened her mouth with saliva and pressed on.
“GRU interviews with German prisoners who served in the south of France indicate that they may also have acquired some French Army equipment, circa 1940, ranging from armour through to small arms, and there are also unsubstantiated rumours of some Panther and Tiger tanks crossing the border to safety during the Allied landings in 1944.”
‘Really?’
“None the less, relatively insignificant materiel of note for our Army to get concerned about.”
‘Agreed.’
“All in all it appears that the Spanish Army could contribute a great deal of manpower but not a lot of substance.”
This was precisely the conclusion of the NKVD report.
“However Comrade General-Secretary, I believe there is more to be concerned about.”
Stalin gestured with his pipe stem for Nazarbayeva to continue, quiet, and strangely content to just observe and listen.
“The embargo of Spain has been lifted, which will engender popular support for the Spanish commitment. The previous years of government have been spent in division, with two different camps vying for power.”
Beria studied her closer, waiting.
“Those two groups are now united and fully behind the commitment. That removes some of the political shackles that could have prevented proper military development. The Spanish spend huge amounts of their wealth on arms and now they are united and can proceed efficiently”
‘Very good Comrade Colonel, not just a pretty face after all are you’, and this time his nods were noticed and appreciated by Nazarbayeva.
“We anticipate that Spanish troops will start to receive military supplies in the near future, if they haven’t already started to be delivered.”
“I think you go too far now Comrade Colonel,” interjected Beria, continuing forcefully.
“It is the NKVD position that the allies will not have sufficient military hardware for their own needs, let alone to supply to an ally of dubious worth.”
Stalin chuckled, which immediately made both intelligence officers wary, one with direct knowledge of his master, the other on her instinct.
“Go on Comrade Colonel,” and he flashed a look at Beria that was fully understood.
“We have two reports of shipments crossing from Africa into Gibraltar yesterday and then moving on into the Spanish interior. One of those reports suggests armaments as a possibility.”
Beria did not know of this and that was written on his face for both the others to see. He wanted to speak but remembered the veiled warning he had just been given.
“When the Axis powers surrendered in Africa they left behind considerable stocks of equipment, as did the Vichy forces, equipment which is redundant and which could now be on its way to Spain.”
“How much?”
Replying directly to Stalin, Tatiana accessed her memory banks.
“That is not something which is known for certain Comrade General-Secretary. However, it is a matter of record that over two hundred and seventy-five thousand prisoners were taken in 1943 alone.”
Stalin leaned forward, his posture encouraging further information.
“That represents a huge amount of modern effective weaponry cheaply available and immediately ready for disposal.”
“These weapons will be ones that most Spanish soldiers will be familiar with and if the Allies are indeed sending them across to Gibraltar, then it is feasible that the entire Spanish Army could possess effective equipment within two weeks.”
Nazarbayeva continued.
“Given that the Allies have acted so swiftly in lifting the embargo and moving cargoes into Southern Spain, it is reasonable to assume that they believe the effort is worthwhile and that Spain will contribute to their cause.”
Again, Beria itched to speak up but remained mute.
“The availability of Spanish ports will change the allied logistics but will offer them limited improvement, and we believe there will be a negligible effect for our forces, Spanish airfields will be of some use to them most certainly but only as we push further into France.”
“Of concern will be the ability to deploy reinforcement units from Africa through Gibraltar and into Spain. I can see no reason why the Spanish would refuse that, given their new political stance.”
Pausing to gather her thoughts before proceeding, Nazarbayeva started to feel real discomfort in her left foot. Having lost everything from the heel forward the only way her left leg could keep her upright was by use of the metal ankle strap, an ‘L’ shaped piece which replaced the foot. Prolonged standing made it very sore and she had been on her feet for nearly an hour.
The pause was misinterpreted and Beria shifted, enquiring of his leader.
Stalin silently gave his NKVD chief his head.
“Comrade Colonel. In matters of intelligence, it is always possible to interpret matters in more than one way. We agree in most areas but is there any substantive evidence to support your view that a properly equipped Spanish force would be able to take the field, or indeed, if the political will actually exists to do so?”
Turning to address Stalin directly, he made a valid point.
“After all, Franco did much posturing during his relations with Germany, and still only sent one division to fight for a cause he apparently supported wh
oleheartedly.”
And to Nazarbayeva he continued, “A posturing which he undertakes again, and proposes providing the same single division to further his cause.”
Beria’s eyebrows rose, feeling he had scored a point over the GRU submission.
‘Check.’
He sat down and looked up at the woman, expecting to see turmoil, but instead saw only calm.
“This afternoon, just before I left to deliver this document, we received a report from our agent within the Spanish Government.”
Beria too had his agents in place, and none of them gave any indication of a difference to Spanish physical commitment to the Allied cause. Unfortunately for him, they simply were not in the right place.
Tatiana had left the best until last for no other reason than reinforcing her report with a juicy fact, whereas she had actually drawn Beria into nailing his colours to the mast of a sinking ship.
“Our agent informs us that the Spanish Army is already undertaking planning for a Spanish Expeditionary Corps consisting of,” and for this her memory failed her and a glance at the last page of addendum was required, “One armoured division, six infantry divisions, one mountain division and the Spanish Legion from Morocco, Franco’s old unit, specifically asked for by Franco himself. In order to participate in, and I quote, ‘the World Crusade against Communism’.”
Check-mate.
‘You fucking bitch.’
Stalin appreciated that the woman Colonel had given her honest appreciation and had made her point well in support of the GRU report. Unlike her, he also appreciated that she had just made an enemy for life.
“Thank you Comrade Colonel. Excellent work. You are dismissed.”
Nazarbayeva sat at a table in the waiting room as her flight was not yet ready to go.
As was her practice, she slipped off her left boot, unnoticed by the other occupants of the room, bringing instant relief to her aching limb.
Consuming the coffee provided by a one-armed veteran of Kursk, she re-examined her time in Stalin’s private office.
Beria.
He had not devoured her lustfully with his eyes like most men, but none the less, she had felt them upon her.
Assessing.
Calculating.
Planning.
Malevolent.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a gruff Air Force Captain calling for passengers to load on the Lisunov-2 ambulance plane that was to be her ride home.
The lascivious gaze of the Kursk veteran avidly examined the form of the GRU Colonel from head to toe, obviously superb despite the lack of tailoring in the uniform, but even then he failed to spot her efficient off/on boot routine.
On the flight back to Leipzig she slept hard, drained by her encounter with those at the centre of power.
As Nazarbayeva left the room, Beria was already preparing his defence.
Stalin knew it and trashed it out of hand.
“GRU seem to have assessed this correctly Comrade Marshall. I agree with their assessment.”
He illustrated his point by leaning forward and dropping the NKVD document into Beria’s lap.
It lay there, a mark of NKVD intelligence failure, weight increasing, seemingly pressing Beria down into the chair.
The silence made it even heavier.
‘Fucking bitch.’
Stalin knew his man.
“Plot your revenge later Lavrentiy, for now I need a solution.”
Focussing on the main issue, Beria immediately realised he had a possible solution already, a matter of personal revenge which could now be turned into something that would resemble incredible foresight and planning.
Buoyed by the thought, he removed the redundant report from his lap, slipping it into his briefcase and searched successfully for another small file.
He passed it to the General-Secretary, exhibiting a genuine smugness that Stalin easily noticed.
“This NKVD contingency operation will solve the problem Comrade.”
And as Stalin took the document, Beria started speaking of a ship called Doblestnyj, a town called Malpica and committed men on a mission.
Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising up every time we fail.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
CHAPTER 50 – THE PLAN
0255 hrs 11th August 1945, Headquarters, Red Banner Forces of Europe, Kohnstein, Nordhausen, Germany.
Outside it was raining but that was not something the occupants of tunnels thirty-eight to forty-five were aware of, given the protection offered by the Mountain above them.
Driven into the rock, initially in the mining search for anhydrite, the tunnels were then expanded after being taken over by German Industry for storing important petroleum products, chemicals, and poisons. However, the tunnels, finally amounting to forty-six in total, were mostly famous for the underground production of the V2 Rocket and association with the Nordhausen Concentration Camp.
Regardless of the dubious lineage of the premises, Soviet planners had been unable to ignore the protection offered and so had prepared tunnels thirty-eight to forty-five as the controlling centre for all military action within Europe, with other tunnels converted to areas of food preparation, barracks, sleeping accommodation for headquarters staff, in fact everything a self-contained facility required. Even with notice, the facilities were Spartan but having seen what visiting heavy bombers were capable of, very few grumbled and even fewer were prepared to exchange carpeted hallways and fine art for the protection offered by a few hundred feet of solid rock.
Zhukov had been woken by his orderly and, having completed his ablutions, he was sat with most of his senior Front Commanders, already present for the crucial meeting.
The rest of the officers in the room were the permitted Deputies, who all engaged with their own circle, be it by rank or post.
Tea, strong and sweet, was the order of the day and the men sat drinking steadily, sampling basic fare from platters spread before them. Sliced sausage, ham, boiled eggs, salted cucumbers and marvellous breads of different ilks. A soldier’s meal had been the request and a soldier’s meal it was, albeit of a higher culinary standard than the average Soviet soldier in the frontline.
Chuikov, the Colonel General commander of the unengaged 1st Alpine Front, was alone and concentrating on taking healthy bites of bread, ham, and cucumber.
Marshall’s of the Soviet Union Malinovsky and Rokossovsky, 1st and 3rd Red Banner Central European Front’s respectively, were in animated conversation regarding the upcoming planned phase two and if it was yet appropriate. Zhukov debated entering the discussion but felt it would keep.
Sokolovsky, Colonel-General of the sidelined Polish Army was in more quieter and less agitated discussion with the Armenian General Bagramyan, his de facto superior as commander of 1st Baltic Front.
Zhukov laughed inwardly as he realised that Colonel General’s Yeremenko of 1st Southern European Front and Malinin, his Chief of Staff were both cornered by Marshall Tolbukhin and his legendary rendition of the Camel Joke.
Whilst the joke itself was of average quality and had been in Tolbukhin’s armoury for more years than Zhukov cared to remember, no one who witnessed the delivery could fail to be impressed by Tolbukhin’s application and spirit in the telling.
Bringing himself back from the lighter moment, Zhukov told himself that Tolbukhin, as commander of the 1st Balkan Front, would need all his good humour to deal with the delicacies of being adjacent to an upset and sizeable Yugoslavian army.
Zhukov looked at the clock.
‘Where is the fool?’ a thought he could not give voice to.
Malinin caught sight of his commander’s unspoken question and followed his gaze to the wall clock that had ticked past 0330 hrs, the allotted time for the meeting. He shrugged almost imperceptibly and nodded, taking his leave of Tolbukhin, who was in full swing.
On exiting the room, which is what it was, walls, ceiling and floor constructed of wood sitting in a cavernous space, he a
lmost collided with an agitated Soviet officer.
About to reprimand the man, he realised that he had nearly come into contact with Marshall Konev, the late arrival, which officer was in a state of some disrepair. Apart from being soaked, his greatcoat was torn, muddy and rent down one side.
There was more than a hint of blood on his left ear and he looked particularly unhappy.
“I hope you are not hurt Comrade Marshall?”
A very disgruntled Konev merely grunted, handing his coat and cap to an orderly. There was no need for any instruction; it would be sorted by the time the Marshall came out of the meeting.
Konev, commander of 2nd Red Banner Central European Front, strode in, nodding here and there and finally at Zhukov before apologising generally and grabbing some tea and food.
A black smudge across Konev’s bald pate and a bloody left ear made those present realise that there was more story to his delay than a missed turning or a flat tyre.
Zhukov tried hard not to be irked by the man but failed miserably. There was no love lost between the two since the race for Berlin, and in truth, there was little prior to that for more than one reason.
Stalin had assigned the capture of Berlin to Zhukov but, and some said deliberately, had not laid out defined borders between the two Fronts. Konev being Konev had oriented his forces in such a way as to ensure his forces made it into Berlin. His forces arrived some time ahead of Zhukov’s because of the relatively successful German defence of the Seelow Heights, which slowed the advance of Zhukov’s forces.
Such things are unrepeatable milestones in a military career and Zhukov saw his milestone as permanently tarnished.
Calling the meeting to order, Zhukov beckoned to one of his aides, who removed the drapes concealing a map of the Far East.
Addressing one matter all wanted cleared up first, he directly addressed Konev.
“Comrade Marshall, are you wounded?”
Konev picked at his ear and inspected the red smear on his fingers.
