The report was tossed to the table like a matador’s cape, and the bull in Beria prepared to gore his opponent.
“Clearly, the La-9 is superior to all our propeller aircraft, but its opponents are changing, and it’s already outclassed by the enemy jets fighters and, as we know, some of their latest propeller craft too.”
The human bull scraped at the ground, preparing its ‘charge’.
“The MiG-9 continues to have problems, and no matter of revision by our engineers is having an effect. The I-250 development is a total disaster and is wasting precious assets that we could do better preserving for other projects. Our efforts, both the NKVD and my own agency, have failed to procure all the information and specifications needed to produce consistently reliable jet propulsion units, and our own engine development programme is under-performing.”
Nazarbayeva did not have the word ‘shambles’ in her vocabulary, which would have been perfect to describe the Soviet Union’s own efforts to get a decent home-designed and engineered jet engine into an airframe.
“OKB MiG is failing with its efforts on Allied copies, and the Lyul’ka Bureau’s TR-1 engine is presently under-performing in every department… except fuel consumption!”
“How do you know that, woman?”
Beria cracked.
“How can you claim that, eh? My department’s report has access to all levels of information, plus our own intelligence. How can you claim such rubbish, eh?”
Stalin relaxed back in his seat, content to let the two contest matters in front of him.
“Because, Comrade Marshal, I too have access to many levels of information… such as academician’s gossip around the canteen table… such as engineering reports from the maintenance units at regimental level… or encounter reports filed by our own pilots and crews… peacetime encounters for sure, but none the less enlightening.”
“Such claims require evidence, Comrade Nazarbayeva.”
“I have prepared it, Comrade General Secretary.”
Two healthy-sized documents appeared from her briefcase and made their way into the eager hands of the two senior men, eager for different reasons.
Both Beria and Stalin were absorbed by the documents, so Nazarbayeva decided to produce three teas from the ornate samovar set against the wall to one side of the great man’s desk.
Stalin accepted his drink without words, so intent was he on consuming the information in Nazarbayeva’s paperwork.
“Really? Unguarded comments as evidence of our jet’s problems, Comrade General?”
“Comrade General Secretary, I understand your reservation, but the names of those involved speaks of the importance of their words.”
Stalin re-examined the document, seeking out the information he had clearly not comprehended.
‘Arkhip Lyulka… jet engine designer… Mikhail Vasilyevich Khrunichev, the Minister for Aviation?’
“The Minister for Aviation?”
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary. He submitted a report on the state of the TR-1, but it seems not to be reflected in the NKVD’s assessment.”
“Comrade Marshal?”
Beria sought a moment’s pause and resorted to polishing his glasses.
“Comrade General Secretary. No report was received from Comrade Leytenant General Khrunichev regarding the TR-1, at least not when the commission was undertaking its assessments.”
“Did Comrades Lyulka and Khrunichev contribute at all?”
Both Beria and Nazarbayeva checked the list of names in appendix four, and both failed to find either man’s name present.
Nazarbayeva stayed silent, leaving Beria to announce his own failure.
“No, Comrade General Secretary.”
“No, Lavrentiy?”
Stalin tossed his copy of the NKVD report across the table towards his henchman, and followed it with the GRU assessment.
“I want your commission to crawl back into this mess and produce a report that tells the GKO… tells me… exactly what the situation is. Can your department manage that… or shall I task the GRU to do it for me, eh Lavrentiy? Eh?”
Beria considered dignified silence was a suitable response and simply nodded, unsure which of the two creatures present he detested the most.
Stalin decided to push the matter further, increasing Beria’s feelings of resentment and humiliation, both of which made bad bedfellows to his more common traits of cunning, scheming, and violent resolution.
“Perhaps you should start immediately, Comrade Marshal?”
The gesture towards the door was made dismissively, as Stalin intended, in order to reinforce his unhappiness with Beria.
Nazarbayeva nodded to the NKVD commander with as blank a face as she could manage, but he still managed to see some sort of triumph, some celebration, some satisfaction in her eyes.
His dismissal did not sit well, neither did his interpretation of the woman’s face, and the man who left the room silently vowed revenge upon those he left behind.
“Thank you for your report, Comrade Nazarbayeva.”
“It was necessary to ensure you and the GKO were not misled, Comrade General Secretary.”
Stalin nodded and stood up but waved the woman back into her seat when she started to respond.
“Comrade Beria is efficient, but he sometimes can be guilty of telling us what we want to hear. I shall always rely on you to present the truth, no matter what form it may take.”
“In his defence, he has many duties, Comrade General Secretary, so he must rely on those under him to produce efficient and truthful reports.”
Stalin chuckled.
“Don’t we all, Comrade… don’t we all…”
He considered some new thought for a moment and then almost imperceptibly nodded to himself as the decision was silently made.
“I shall create a new commission, one drawn from not just the NKVD, for the purpose of overseeing and appreciating our technical challenges, progress, and comparisons with the Allied forces.”
He returned to his seat and drained the last of his tea.
“I’ll speak to Polkovnik General Kuznetsov and have him appoint someone from the GRU immediately. Whoever it is, make sure you feed your information directly to them. That way you may make yourself less of an enemy to Comrade Beria.”
Nazarbayeva opened her mouth to protest but was cut short by a wagging finger.
“Oh yes, Tatiana Sergievna Nazarbayeva, he considers you his enemy… and today’s display has made that more clear in his mind. You humiliated him…”
The hand stopped her objection in an instant.
“I know… I know… you serve the Rodina and the Party to the best of your ability, but what he saw today was a GRU officer tell him he was wrong and make play of it in front of his boss. Don’t stop telling me the truth… ever… but be more wary, Comrade. That’s my advice on the matter. Now, I’ve a meeting to chair.”
He stood and fished in the top drawer of his desk as Nazarbayeva came to attention, ready to take her leave.
“Comrade, you serve the Rodina and Party to the absolute best of your ability. I commend you for it, Leytenant General Nazarbayeva.”
The words penetrated her brain instantly and she saluted smartly.
“Thank you, Comrade General Secretary.”
He handed over the insignia of a Lieutenant General with a smile that conveyed real warmth.
“I look forward to your next report, Comrade General.”
1253 hrs, Saturday, 21st September 1946, the Kremlin, Moscow, USSR.
The door opened to admit a calmer Beria.