From across the table, Korenev chimed in. "Such things are mistakes only after the fact, Shegayev. At the moment, young Pavel no doubt was the last thing on their minds." The officers at the table, including Shegayev, laughed.
Seeing this, Ilvanich relaxed. It was a good sign. "Have you eaten, Lieutenant Shegayev?"
"I am not hungry, Comrade Captain. We were well fed on the flight coming in."
Standing up and recovering his hat, Ilvanich began to walk to the door, signaling with a nod of his head for Shegayev to follow him. As they walked away, Korenev yelled across the room, "Hey, Shegayev, if your uncle is in personnel assignments, write him soon and ask for a new job. Ilvanich is rough on lieutenants." Shegayev turned his head to see Ilvanich's reaction. There was none. Stone-faced, Ilvanich walked out the door.
Once outside, the two officers walked along a muddy path toward the company area in silence. Shegayev knew what Ilvanich was thinking. No doubt his new company commander suspected that he was KGB. Shegayev's uncle had tried to persuade his nephew to go to another unit for just that reason. But young Shegayev was headstrong and determined to serve with the best. Begrudgingly, Uncle Pavel admitted that Ilvanich was the best airborne officer he had seen, and made the necessary arrangements for his brother's son to be assigned to Ilvanich's unit.
After several minutes, Ilvanich reached into his pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and offered one to Shegayev. Shegayev declined but waited until Ilvanich had lit his before speaking. "My uncle sends his regards and belated congratulations on your promotion."
Ilvanich turned his head toward Shegayev, cocked it to one side, and looked at the lieutenant for a moment. "Your uncle was very instrumental in my reinstatement as well as my promotion. Few officers who were captured by the Americans in Iran were reinstated;
and I know of none who were promoted. Had your uncle not risked his own career, I would be working at the bottom of a mine in Siberia right now, had I been lucky."
Seeing an opening, Shegayev jumped on it. "My uncle thinks very highly of you. You saved his life and served both the party and Mother Russia well."
Ilvanich suddenly stopped, catching Shegayev off guard. "Tell me, Shegayev, are you also KGB, like your uncle?"
For a moment Shegayev looked into Ilvanich's eyes, trying to determine whether he should lie or simply tell the truth. Did he know, or was he guessing? Shegayev continued to stare into Ilvanich's eyes, but they told him nothing. They were dark and expressionless. There was no way of determining what was going on behind them. Trusting in luck, he opted for the truth. "Yes, Comrade Captain, I am KGB."
Ilvanich looked at him for a moment, then smiled. "Good. I am glad you decided to tell the truth. It is only natural that you would follow in your uncle's footsteps. Come, tell me how your uncle is doing."
With a sigh of relief, Shegayev turned and continued to walk with his commander, filling him in on his uncle's life. In front of the company orderly room, Shegayev stopped and asked how Ilvanich knew he was KGB.
"Your uncle is KGB. I've been told that it runs in the family. Besides, one night your uncle told me of a young and energetic nephew he had who had completed the initial KGB indoctrination and had opted to go in the army."
"And you don't mind that I am KGB?"
Ilvanich smiled again. "Why should I mind that you are KGB? My last deputy commander was KGB. While the state had enough confidence to reinstate and promote me, it wants to watch me for a while, just to be sure. Hence a KGB man is always somewhere in my unit."
Shegayev was visibly relieved. "I am glad that you know. It will make working for you so much easier."
The smile disappeared from Ilvanich's face. His eyes, dark and expressionless, sent a shiver through Shegayev. "Don't be so sure that this assignment will be easy. Hopefully your uncle told you everything about him and me, especially the incident at the oasis. While it is my sworn duty to defend the state and the party, in combat other things, such as the lives of the men, have a nasty habit of becoming more important than party slogans and adherence to rhetoric best left in Moscow. No, your job will not be easy. There will come a time when we will be in a very tight spot and something will happen that you — or, more correctly, the party — does not agree with. You will then have a hard choice to make. Hopefully you will meet that crisis better than your predecessor. His choice cost him his life."
With that, Ilvanich turned away and walked into the company orderly room, leaving Shegayev standing in the street, confused and dumbfounded.
Though they could not see him yet, the click of heels on the marble floor alerted the guards that someone was approaching from a connecting corridor. The guards could normally guess the number and rank of visitors. The rhythm of this visitor's pace was steady, and the meaningful stride told them that the person in these boots had purpose and self-assurance — definitely an officer. The sharpness of the footfalls indicated a big man. Straightening his stance, one of the guards whispered, "A colonel."
From around the corner, a Soviet officer turned and continued toward the door where the guards stood. The early morning light was streaming into the corridor at a sharp angle through the windows on one side; the approaching officer disappeared at regular intervals as he moved from the sunbeams into the shade, then reappeared as he moved back into the sunbeams. Bracing themselves to salute, the guards faltered for a moment when the officer stopped, lost from sight in the sunbeam in which he stood. Leaning forward and squinting, the guard on the right saw him standing at one of the windows, looking out onto the courtyard below. Confused, the two guards glanced at each other but did nothing.
At the window, Lieutenant Colonel Anatol I. Vorishnov stood lost in thought as he looked down into the courtyard of the Kremlin. Soldiers, diplomats, politicians, bureaucrats, and couriers plowed through the freshly fallen snow and scurried about below him as they sought to get out of the cold. Even in the worst of weather, the business of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics had to be carried out. As he watched the comings and goings of those who ran the nation, Vorishnov's thoughts turned to the meeting he was about to enter. Though surprised to be summoned to the Kremlin for another briefing, Vorishnov was prepared.
Working as an area specialist in the plans and exercise section of STAVKA, the Red Army's General Staff, Vorishnov had been instructed to do a quick study on the feasibility of deploying and operating an independent tank corps in the Libyan desert. With less than four days to produce a finished product, Vorishnov had been forced to cut many corners from established staff procedures. When he was unable to find exact information, he made assumptions and duly noted them as such. But this did not bother Vorishnov. Despite the fact that he had just graduated from the Frunze Military Academy as the top graduate of his class, a year in Iran before attending the Frunze Academy had taught him that the "norms" for procedures and operations as taught seldom match their practice in the real world.
He had also learned, however, that there were those who choose to ignore reality, hiding instead behind accepted doctrines and procedures. In peacetime this was normaclass="underline" no one takes any unnecessary chances with one's career. Regulations and doctrine provide convenient hiding places for the timid and unimaginative. But Vorishnov, like many of his compatriots, had assumed that once war had broken out, peacetime practices would end. He expected that commanders and their staffs would do what was necessary to accomplish the mission, even if it meant taking risks and going against accepted doctrine. It therefore came as a shock to Vorishnov that all too many officers had continued to carry out their duties in Iran as if they were still taking part in a peacetime exercise.