Stalemate (The Red Gambit Series) (67 page)

Marshal of the Soviet Union Hovhannes Bagramyan had the floor, the rest of the room quiet as he outlined the plan to punch through the Allied armies and enter Holland.

Bagramyan was not a fool. The silence from his senior officers was not just attentiveness; it was also concern that they and their men were to be pitched into further horrors.

The German War had its own special brand of violence, fought with a shared national hatred, and that inspiration had carried the soldiers of the Red Army through situations when they could easily have floundered.

Fighting the Western Allies was different, but no less
bloody; in fact, with the air attacks that wrought havoc on a daily basis, many of his men thought the new war was worse.

‘Perhaps they need to hate again?’

The commander of the 1st Baltic Front halted for a moment, dealing with that thought.

He moved on quickly.

“With those diversions in place, it is my intention to launch a series of sequential attacks on this river line, the Hunte, moving progressively south.”

The Colonels and Majors now understood that this was where they would be employed.

Zagrebin of the 77th Engineers exchanged a rueful look with the commander of the 4th Guards Tank Brigade, Arkady Yarishlov.

“Starting at Pfennigstedterfeld, 11th Guards Army,” he acknowledged Galitsky and Semenov, commander and CoS respectively, “You will launch attacks designed to commit the enemy reserves forward or force them to change position.”

“At these points,” Bagramyan tapped the map to punctuate each name as he went, “Wildeshausen, Hölingen, Colnrade, Goldenstedt, Barnstorf, Rechtern, Dreeke, Drebber, and finally Heede, and Hengemühle.”

“11th Guards will take 3rd Guards Mechanised Corps and 22nd Guards Rifle Corps under orders, to be employed only as blocking formations once an attack is halted. Clear, Comrades?”

“Yes, Comrade Marshal.”

Although, in truth, neither man understood exactly why they were being given two prime formations
, and then being restricted on how to employ them.

“The timetable for your attacks is to reflect the need
to draw the enemy reserves southwards all the time. I need 11th Guards to create a timetable in the minds of the Allies, one to which we will conform, until we strike and open them up like a ripe peach.”

“Comrade General Christyakov,” the commander of 6th Guards Army came to attention, “Your Army is my breakthrough formation, ready to exploit the gap once it is made.”

Outlining a different area of the front, Bagramyan continued.

“Here, you will follow the descending frontline with some assault formations; openly, not hidden in any way. I want the Allies to know of them.”

He stopped at two large wooded areas.

“Here, this is where I want you to
hide the rest of your units. My plan is in the process of approval with the Stavka, and I have requested a Tank Corps to be assigned to you as an essential part of the breakthrough.”

Christyakov beamed at Rybko, his CoS
, having just been handed his largest and most important command since he had taken to soldiering.

“Also hidden in these two woods,” he checked the names, “Wietingsmoor and Freistattermoor, will be Special Group Obinin.”

Major General Obinin, the temporary commander of 2nd Guards Tank Corps, had already been briefed on his part, so he was not fazed by the announcement. In truth, the man was bordering on total mental exhaustion, but the front he presented gave no indication on how close he was to breaking.

Bagramyan paused to sip some water before continuing.

“Special Group Obinin will be responsible for breaching the Hunte River defences, and capturing intact the rail bridge here,” the group leant forward as one, “At Barnstorf.”

Each man could
mentally envisage the sights, and smell the smoke, that would envelop the small German township, whose only crime was to possess an undamaged rail bridge capable of sustaining the weight of heavy armour.

In each man’s
mind’s eye, the Soviet forces swept over the defenders in a glorious wave.

Then
the euphoria of the moment was gone, replaced with the fatalism of the experienced soldier,

More than one in the room looked at the map with a jaundiced eye.

‘Barnstorf.’

“Comrade Obinin has already submitted a plan of attack based upon the best intelligence available, and it may be that we will obtain three bridges over the Hunte as a result of this assault.”

Returning his attention to Christyakov, the cunning Armenian Marshal smiled encouragingly.

“6th Guards will commence deploying its concealed forces as soon as the forcing of the Hunte seems likely, timed to cross as soon as the river line is ours, keeping up the pressure
, and forcing the Allies to keep moving westwards. You will concentrate your Army as soon as possible, passing them over the river immediately the opportunity presents itself.”

It was Zagrebin’s turn
to receive attention.

“Our comrades from the 77th Engineer Bridge Brigade will commence
their work as soon as you give them the signal, either repairing the existing, or laying new bridges, whichever will give us the most benefit at the time.”

Bagramyan’s voice took a sterner tone.

“I don’t need to remind you how valuable the 77th is, and its preservation is to be considered a priority over all others, Comrades.”

Simply put, there were few bridging unit left, and even fewer with the resources to actually construct a viable bridge; 77th was one such rarity, albeit one missing its 3rd Battalion
, and of reduced strength across the board.

It was Galitsky who broached subject number one.

“Comrade Marshal, our supply situation seems to have eased at the moment, but are we guaranteed sufficient for our needs in this operation, and beyond?”

Galitsky had already suffered because of a lack of vital munitions and fuels, and had been bound to raise the matter
. Bagramyan was ready with his reply.

“Comrade
Marshal Zhukov assures me the extra resources are on their way, and will be distributed within the next two days. They will also be protected by additional assets from our brothers in the NKVD.”

“Comrade
Marshal, Special Group Obinin,” Christyakov took the floor, “What is its strength? Is it enough to do the job, or will I need to reinforce it?”

Bagramyan was momentarily irritated, as that information was in the operational plan in each
man’s possession.

Then
a thought overtook him.

‘He’s an excellent soldier, so why hasn’t he looked
at the document first?’

He looked around the ensemble, and now saw something dangerous in all their faces.

‘They are tired. Blyad, but they are all tired!’

Nonetheless, 1st Baltic had a job to do, so he continued.

“Comrade General, Group Obinin is an all-arms formation made up of sections from 2nd Guards Tanks, 36th Guards Rifles, 6th Guards Heavy Tanks, and the 77th Engineers. Assign one of your Guards Rifles Corps to be prepared to lend modest assistance, by all means, but I want you to preserve your Army to fight west of the Hunte. You will
not
get embroiled in the fighting at Barnstorf.”

That was clear.

For the benefit of all, but focussing on Obinin and the two Colonels flanking him, Bagramyan spoke forcefully.

“Group Obinin has the strength
, and the quality, to take Barnstorf, and to permit the 77th Engineers to do their job. If they expend their last bullet and last tank,” he deliberately avoided saying ‘last man’, “In doing it, then they will have succeeded in their mission, Comrades. Is
that
clear?”

Undeniably, it was crystal clear.

Special Group Obinin would take Barnstorf, or be wiped out in the attempt.

“Comrade
Marshal,” all eyes swivelled on the Guards Colonel of Tanks who dared to speak. His awards were impressive, and spoke volumes for his experience, as well as his experiences.

“Comrade Polkovnik Yarishlov?”

“Sir, you have outlined excellent provisions by our comrades in the Red Air Force, but how effective can they be, given the grievous losses they have sustained in beating back the Allied regiments?”

More than one
listener smiled, understanding that, Colonel or not, the man understood how to speak without incriminating himself in defeatist talk. They all understood that the Red Air Force had been crucified by the capitalist squadrons, and was bordering on ineffective, unless real efforts were made to focus resources on limited operations.

“Comrade Polkovnik, I am assured by our frontal aviation commander, General Mayor Buianskiy, that all our forces involved in this operation will receive the maximum fighter cover possible, and that tactical air support will also be widely available to units on the ground.”

‘Very carefully answered Comrade Marshal.’

“Thank you, Comrade
Marshal.”

An unseen signal from Bagramyan had brought fresh tea into the meeting, a break that the wily Armenian had instigated
for his own purposes.

Standing alone, he assessed each officer
in turn, reading their gestures, the tone of voice, all to decide on how each man was taking his role in the operation.

Only one man drew extra attention.

Catching Yarishlov’s eye, he silently invited the Colonel of Tanks to come closer.

“You are still troubled, Comrade Polkovnik?”

Arkady Yarishlov was not known for hiding his light. Tactfully avoiding mentioning the air force losses was one thing, but lying to a direct question from his Front Commander was another.

“Yes, Sir, I am.”

Bagramyan licked his lips, removing the sweet tea residue.

“You are right to be, Comrade Yarishlov.”

Yarishlov was surprised at such candour from the senior man.

“We are old soldiers, you and I, Comrade Yarishlov. Let us enjoy some straight talking.”

“Yes Comrade Marshal.”

“The Air Force is on
its last legs. The Allies have dealt very harshly with our Air Regiments, and I doubt that Comrade Buianskiy will be able to honour his promise to us, even in skies directly above our air gunners”

Wisely, Yarishlov just nodded, leaving the older man to continue.

“Despite the fact that they suffer every time they take to the air, they still go. They do their duty for the Motherland in the same way as we ground soldiers, Comrade Yarishlov.”

Turning around to the larger map pinned to the wall, Bagramyan waved his hand over the
1st Baltic Front's area of responsibility.

“My area has grown, as we have gained our victories. All of this now lies under my responsibility, and I have less manpower than ever to protect it with.”

Lowering his voice, the Armenian Marshal spoke directly to Yarishlov.

“My air force is operating at about 30% of the strength we had when we started this war, Comrade Yarishlov, 30%.”

‘I had no idea it was that bad!’

“And yet they still go up and face terrible odds. So, how can I ask them to do that
, if we mud crawlers doubt them before they even start?”

Yarishlov winced, made to feel that he had dishonoured his Air Force comrades for even thinking that they were not up to the job.

“They may well not be able to do all that Comrade Buianskiy has promised, but it will not be for lack of effort and commitment to the Motherland, Comrade Yarishlov. And if we ground soldiers have to take more risks because of their poor state then, so be it; we will do so.”

“Yes, Comrade
Marshal.”

“Good. I’m glad you understand, Comrade Polkovnik.”

Bagramyan drew a line under the temporary intimacy by the use of Arkady’s rank and his sterner tone.

Neither man had realised that the entire room had fallen silent and the senior officers were engrossed in the exchange.

Bagramyan took the initiative.

“Comrades, unless you have further pressing business within my headquarters, you are dismissed
, and I will expect your preliminary plans by 1400hrs tomorrow.”

The meeting broke up immediately, each commander heading off to develop his plans, some with the euphoria of an organised attack against weakened opposition, others burdened with the uncertainties of command in a vital operation.

Back in his own base, Yarishlov sat on his bed, studying the map.

He fell into a troubled sleep, unable to explain or justify the sense of foreboding that filled him.

‘Barnstorf.’