Stalemate (The Red Gambit Series) (49 page)

Little real damage had been caused to the military targets. Yet again, the
German civilians seemed to have suffered most.

Konev observed the work of the rescuers whilst he drank tea, completely oblivious to the rapidly approaching Petrov.

“Comrade Marshal.”

Despite the quiet
tone, Konev, deep in thought, jumped noticeably.

“Apologies, Comrade
Marshal. I knew you would want to know immediately.”

Konev licked the tea from his hand, where it had splashed when he started.

“Go on then, Petrov, and make it good.”

The sound of a man in pain gave both men pause, and they watched as the hideously wounded soldier was lifted from the ruins and spirited away.

“31st Army have taken Wanlo. General Glagolev reports his troops exhausted, but capable of holding their ground. Your orders, Comrade?”

“
Contact both major units immediately, implement...” he cut off short, reflecting on the possibilities open to him.

Narrowing the choices down to two, he went for the safer option.

“Implement Plan Blue-Two at oh-seven hundred on 20th October.”

Petrov looked quizzically at the Commander.

“You disagree, Comrade?”

“No
, Comrade Marshal, just surprised. I always thought you intended a quicker advance.”

Konev laughed.

“I did, of course, but the logistics do not permit me that luxury at the moment, Comrade.”

‘Soon
, I hope! By Mother Russia, let it be soon!’

“Now
, Comrade General, whilst our Air Force comrades are still jubilant, let us go and extract a little more help from them.”

The two
senior men entered the main building, intent on pressurising the Air Force General into providing more air cover for their assault force.

The commander of the 6th Guards Tank Army checked his watch for the final time, his eyes watching as the second hand swept upwards, inexorably moving to the upright position.

And beyond?

Colonel General Andrei Kravchenko frowned, the second hand continuing on its endless journey, but without the audio backdrop he had anticipated.

It had reached eleven seconds past the allotted time when the sounds of war reached the General’s ears.

A huge artillery barrage was initiated, the artillery of the two Guards Armies, joined with extra formations taken from sister units, or released by Konev from the Front reserve, expending considerable amounts of the stocks each commander had hoarded since the supply difficulties made themselves known.

He exchanged looks with Major General Zhadov, the commander of 5th Guards Army, the other major formation in Konev’s special plan.

With additional assets, such as artillery, anti-aircraft, and engineers, Special Grouping Kravchenko was a powerful force, albeit one that had already suffered at the hands of Allied aircraft and artillery.

5th Guards Army was oriented to the north of the central point, its assets focussed on rounding Mönchen-Gladbach and taking the towns of Roermond and Venlo.

6th Guards Tank Army intended to take west and south-west routes, broaching the Maas, west of Sittard-Geleen, whilst driving to Maastricht with the intent of isolating Aachen.

Between Roermond and Maastricht, only the bridges at Stein and Berg were intact enough to permit passage for the armour of SG ‘Kravchenko’, both protected by the small Dutch towns of Sittard and Geleen.

The radio crackled in Zhadov’s ear, the static still awful, as it had been since the attack commenced.

He tried again.

“Viktor-zero-zero, Viktor-zero-zero, can you hear me, Nozh-zero-zero over?”

The voice was unrecognisable
, but just understandable, Kravchenko’s distinctive tones lost in the disruption.

“Viktor-zero-zero receiving, I can
just hear you, General, Viktor-zero-zero over.”

Zhadov, sat in the back of his M3 scout car, quickly checked the details before speaking.

“Viktor-zero-zero, confirm Objective Akula taken. Nozh-five forces heavily engaged at Akula-three, request more Vol...” the radio clearly failed, the message lost once more.

The operator tuned the apparatus, keen to keep his commander happy, nodding and smiling as the signal was restored.

“...ay again. Understood Akula taken. Say after, Viktor-zero-zero over.”

Desperate to get the message off before the signal let him down again, Major General Zhadov spoke quickly.

“Nozh-zero-zero, Nozh-five heavily engaged at Wegberg. Request more Volga, repeat request more Volga, over.”

At the other end of the exchange,
understanding Zhadov’s need for more tanks, Colonel General Kravchenko consulted his map. He ignored the lapse in radio procedure, and assessed the situation at Akula-three before replying.

“Viktor-zero-zero to Nozh-zero-zero, I am unable to help you. Use Nozh-One, out.”

He used the codename of 31st Tank Corps, 5th Guards Army’s armoured unit, which Zhadov was clearly trying to preserve for the bigger battles to come, some of its units having already been savaged in the fighting in Wurtemburg.

The Commander of 5th Guards Army tossed the handset in the general direction of the operator, who deftly caught it, and placed it in its proper position. Her eyes then stayed fixed on the set in front of her.

Zhadov had expected nothing
, and so was not disappointed, although he was annoyed with himself for his small lapse in radio procedure.

Shaking out the map
that recorded his intended advance, he started to dictate orders for the commander of 31st Tanks, the now-moving scout car rocking him gently as he worked.

Happy that the conversation had now ended, Harriet Fraser-Brown completed her notes and called the supervisor.

The Naval commander, a veteran of the Atlantic convoys, moved forward in that strange ‘dirty pants’ gait that all the listening
room staff secretly mocked. Or they had, until the moment that they discovered the man had left his right leg inside his last command, which escort destroyer was lying at the bottom of the Western Approaches, with half its crew still listed as missing.

“So, what do you have for me today, Harry? Comrade Zhukov’s dining arrangements by chance?”

“No Sir, but I can fill in another of the blanks on the enemy Westphalia operation.”

Fraser-Brown rarely attracted a second look from men who were hungry for female company, but she understood that her asset was hidden away, a powerful brain secreted behind a plain face.

As did her contemporaries and overseers, who understood the beauty of an incisive mind.

Lieutenant-Commander Trelawny read the rough text of the conversation and grunted by way of thanks, moving over to a board where the ‘listeners’ and those who interpreted the conversations posted their suspicions.

Encouraging the visitor forward, Trelawny handed him the message and then examined the board.

“We know that only one important location has been lost this morning, and that is Erkelenz, so that confirms our belief,” he tapped the chalk notation indicating the codeword ‘Akula’.

His guest passed back the form without comment.

“Clearly, Akula-Three is within the same district, and the speaker mentions Wegburg, which fits the bill quite nicely I think.”

The ‘Westphalia’ board was nestled in the middle of a set of nine such displays, each carrying its own set of definites and possibles, all products of the intelligence game.

Four of the boards had red areas, inside which were items of information that the
Allies’ pet spies had told Moscow were known to Allied Intelligence.

That side operation was one of the main reasons that Sir Roger Marais Dalziel was present in Station X, checking that the game was still being played according to his rules, and those who had been caught still observed the niceties of their position, niceties that kept them from the hangman’s noose.

One board, that of the group of enemy units suspected of planning to attack southwards into Northern Italy, remained virtually blank.

That also told them something, as that much military hardware never stays silent without good reason.

The ‘what’s and where’s’ caused the Allied Intelligence community a great deal of angst.

None the less, Rear Admiral Dalziel was still buoyed by his previous meeting with the
code breakers.

Operation Venona, based mainly in the States, had presented Bletchley Park with a morsel of information, a snippet of enemy code
that was recognisable, and on which the machines had worked incessantly.

Today, in the breaking dawn, the Colossus machines had presented the Allies with the ability to read much of the new NKVD code.

As soon as he had completed his business in Bletchley, Dalziel had a date with a transport aircraft for a ride to Versailles.

“You come at a bad time, Sir Roger.”

Even to a man more used to naval engagements, that fact had been obvious from the moment he alighted from his staff car.

SHAEF staff were running in all directions, some obviously charged with important business, others seemingly milling in panic.

Eisenhower turned back to the map, not waiting for a response, exchanging urgent whispers with Bedell-Smith.

The situation map reflected a Soviet surge, the front spectacularly sundered in four places and folding badly in two others.

Bedell-Smith hurried away, ready to carry out the decisions that Eisenhower had just passed on.

Ike resorted to his standard psychological prop, the smoke stinging the eyes of the non-smoking Englishman.

“Is it as bad as it looks, Sir?” the question came from a man who had witnessed the first days on ‘The Bulge’, so he had seen
chaos recorded on a map before.

“
Actually, I don’t think so, Sir Roger. Sure, they have hurt us, and we will be going back some, but we have new formations, experienced men, formed ready to go. They still have a supply problem, and you can bet your hat that the Air force will mess that up some more.”

Dalziel
nodded his understanding.

“So, I can give you a few minutes. What brings you here
, Sir Roger?”

“This, Sir.”

The Naval Intelligence Officer handed over a report heavy with the symbolism of extreme secrecy, some of which Eisenhower had seen only a handful of times previously.

“What sort of dynamite have you got here, Sir Roger?”

“The extremely useful kind, Sir.”

Opening the folder, Eisenhower’s first impression was one of
disorganisation, the Cyrillic text made more meaningless by being clumped in groups of three to five letters.

The next page was better presented, the same
Cyrillics overmarked and grouped, with roman text bracketed above each code set.

“Damn. Is this for real
, Sir Roger?”

“Absolutely
, Sir, the machines made the breakthrough yesterday. We have back-checked, and our decryption works across the board.”

Leaning forward and lowering his voice, the British Admiral’s sense of the dramatic lent weight to the document in Ike’s hands.

“Sir, we now possess the means to read all NKVD radio messages across the range of their departments. Specifically, the reports in that folder cover many of the Railroad protection units in the Ukraine, complete with schedules and provisions for defence.”

No further information was needed; Eisenhower understood perfectly.

“Sir, if I may,” Dalziel fished in the back of the folder and produced a double-sided sheet of paper.

“Sir, this is a message from the Senior NKVD officer in the 2nd Red Banner Army, firstly detailing the assignment of the prisoner Amanin to a penal unit.”

The enthusiastic nodding spurred Dalziel on.

“It then details the security units that will protect the extremely important shipment for 2nd Red Banner Army,”
Dalziel paused as Eisenhower’s eyes rose to the situation board, his memory confirmed by the large sign on the map.

“Damn!”

“Anne-Marie!”, the nearby Major moved quickly to her commander’s side.