Reynolds’ eyes settled on the small hut and narrowed as his cunning mind searched for a resolution.
“All in good time, boyo, all in good fucking time.”
Lieutenant General Kuzma Galitsky was less than delighted with the new operation that was to be entrusted to his already exhausted force.
A true follower of Zhukov, and never a great fan of Konev, he set aside his personal views and assessed the attack with a professional eye.
If it went well, then great rewards would be reaped. If it didn’t…
‘Then there will be a price to pay.’
An aide appeared at his side, a cough announcing his presence.
“Yes, Comrade Mayor?”
“The replacement officers are here, Comrade Leytenant General.”
‘At last, some good news!’
“Excellent! Show them into the dining room and make sure they are given food. I will be there shortly.”
The Major trotted off to herd the gaggle of newly arrived officers into the school’s dining room. He had anticipated his General’s orders and the heavily panelled room was already laid out to provide refreshment to the dozen colonels arriving to fill dead men’s shoes.
Galitsky, accompanied by his Chief of Staff, Lieutenant General Semenov, quietly observed the group and make swift judgements.
Ten men, Colonels and Lieutenant Colonels clad in immaculate uniforms, were clearly products of the search for qualified officers mounted across the length and breadth of the Motherland. Men from rear-echelon units, reserve units, or culled from some backwater on the Caspian Sea. Men whose chests bore the awards of service to the State in matters other than the business for which they were now assembled; combat.
Two more Colonels, stood apart from the others, were something completely different. Front line beasts, both of whom wore the Hero Award and more besides, marks of their prowess and, hopefully, competence.
There were vacancies across the range of Galtisky’s formations, as the fighting had savaged his leadership groups.
With the new attack in mind and, in the knowledge of his own planning, he assigned the two smart but worn Colonels to the formation that would bear much of the strain.
On cue, Semenov announced their presence and the room sprang to attention.
Left to right, each man introduced himself as Galitsky welcomed them in turn, listening to a brief resume of each officer’s service. Referring to a clipboard held out by Semenov, the 11th Guards’ commander assigned each man to a vacant slot, once the newcomer’s credentials had been established.
Galitsky turned to the last two Colonels, assessing each in turn and seeing firmness in each man, but also a weariness reserved for those who have spent more than their fair share of time playing with the devil’s horsemen.
He nodded at the first man and returned his salute.
Each man introduced himself in turn.
“Comrade General, Polkovnik Deniken, formerly a battalion commander in 16th Guards Rifle Division of 36th Guards Rifle Corps.”
“Ah yes, I’ve heard of you, Vladimir Vissarionavich. You have performed brilliantly throughout the war and your arrest was totally misplaced. I hope that you weren’t ill-treated, Comrade?”
The truth would serve no purpose, so a lie slipped easily from his lips.
“My treatment was satisfactory, thank you, Comrade General.”
Galitsky knew it for the lie it was.
He took a quick look at the clipboard just to confirm his memory.
“Well, Comrade Polkovnik, I’m afraid that I cannot spare you. Your assignment is not an easy one and you’ll be taking your men in danger’s path again. Competence attracts such tasks, of course.”
Deniken’s silence spoke volumes.
“You’ll assume command of 1st Guards Rifle Division, within the 16th Guards Rifle Corps. I’m having as many of the men of your old unit transferred to you as I can find.”
The sound of Semenov’s pen scratching away on the list followed and Deniken received his written orders, the two officers exchanging salutes by way of terminating the exchange.
Galitsky turned to the last man.
He raised a hand, stopping the Colonel before he could even start.
“You, I know, Comrade Polkovnik. Your reputation precedes you. Again, your arrest was ill-conceived and I’m pleased that the authorities have seen sense.”
He leant in towards the tank officer, lowering his voice and inviting the listener forward and into his confidence.
“From what I understand, we should have been awarding you another one of those stars, rather than holding you accountable for matters beyond your control.”
Both men recovered their poise and Galitsky continued, introducing formality to cover his genuine respect for the man in front of him.
“You, Comrade Polkovnik Yarishlov, you are assigned to command 120th Special Tank Brigade, also part of 16th Guards Rifle Corps, where your undoubted skills will once more be tested in the service of the Motherland.”
Semenov completed the form with a flourish, passed it to Yarishlov and stepped back.
“Now then, Comrades. Go and get settled in with your men. You’ll have only a few days before the Rodina will call on you again. Use the hours wisely.”
Salutes were offered and received and the two Colonels departed.
Galitsky and Semenov followed after a moment’s pause and observed the two soldiers parting on the steps to the old school.
His shrewd eye took in every aspect of the scene.
“Those two are more than comrades, Ivan.”
Semenov grunted.
“Those two are friends; we should use that to our advantage.”
A second grunt.
“Let’s have a look at the plan and see if we can’t bring the 1st and 120th into closer cooperation eh?”
Semenov proffered the clipboard with a smile, the heavy markings clearly joining the two units together and annotated with a single word.
‘Tovariches.’
“Just as well I know you’re not after my job, Ivan!”
With a deadpan look, Semenov delivered the coup de grace.
“Not likely, Comrade General. I wouldn’t get a Chief of Staff half as good as you’ve got, would I?”
Since August 1945, the 1st Guards Rifle Corps and 120th Tank Brigade had both suffered horrendous casualties and were now being pieced back together with a hotch potch of men and equipment.
In the case of the former, personnel from destroyed formations were combined with men who had once been incarcerated by the Nazi regime.
The latter was more fortunate, receiving a very high proportion of experienced men from the destroyed 2nd Guards Tank Corps.
No sooner had Yarishlov taken command of the 120th Tanks than it ceased to be, by order of STAVKA, assuming the title of a formation immolated in the previous month’s conflict.
Yarishlov found himself in command of the newly elevated 7th Guards Special Tank Brigade, its new elite status bought by the sacrifice of those no longer alive.
True to their gut feelings, Galitsky and Semenov restyled their planning to place the two units in mutual support.
On such whims are the fates of nations decided.
Chapter 107 – THE ALPS
It is absolutely true in war, were other things equal, that numbers, whether men, shells, bombs, etc, would be supreme. Yet it is also absolutely true that other things are never equal and can never be equal.