“As efficient as ever in dealing with those who have transgressed, Lavrentiy.”
The sarcasm in Stalin’s voice was noted.
“None the less, GRU have failed in their duties, as you say, and examples must be made. You have shown me the way.”
Beria’s insides churned at his own unusual ineptitude in understanding how things would work out.
“Comrade Nazarbayeva, as with you, cannot be held responsible for this fuck up. You have found those more worthy of punishment within the NKVD. I’m sure similar culprits can be found within her headquarters.”
Beria nodded.
“So, we understand each other, Lavrentiy?”
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.”
“She’s important to the Motherland. Play your games as you always do, but never go over my head in regard to this woman again… never… ever.”
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.”
“Now, attend to her release, and the other details.”
Dismissed by no more than a look, Marshal Beria left Stalin’s office smarting from both Stalin’s words and his own failure, and with a reinforced hatred of the GRU bitch.
Nazarbayeva stood at full attention in an immaculate uniform, the only inklings that all was not how it should be were the split lip, bruised cheek, and some missing medals, the result of an enthusiastic questioner who decided that ripping the awards from the woman’s chest was an excellent pre-cursor to slapping her around.
Stalin stood and walked around Molotov to where she was standing, embracing the still shocked GRU officer, and kissing her on both cheeks with seemingly genuine warmth and affection.
“Please, sit, Comrade Nazarbayeva. Tea?”
She did as she was told, but declined the tea, for fear of dribbling the hot liquid down her tunic through lips that had still to recover their feeling.
“I wanted you back in Moscow to answer for the errors of your department. You know I had to do that, Comrade General. But I did NOT…” he slammed his hand on the desk, making Nazarbayeva jump, “… Did not order your detention, nor did I have anything to do with that.”
He pointed at her injuries, both those to her person and her pride, the missing Hero Award making him react in an unexpected fashion.
He fished in his top drawer.
“Comrade Mayor General, as an apology, I ask you to please accept this medal in the stead of the one you have mislaid.”
He moved around to her side of the table yet again, and she stood as he pinned his own award on her tunic, repeating the hug and kiss routine with an equal amount of genuine affection.
“Sit.”
He resumed his seat and leant forward, wringing his peasant hands, almost in a show of supplication.
“Comrade Beria did what he thought was correct, although excessively so. He’ll apologise to you in due course.”
Beria had declined to be present for the reinstatement of Nazarbayeva, citing pressing department reasons, an excuse Stalin had accepted for expediency’s sake only.
Molotov was only there for unconnected reasons, but took the opportunity to stow away a few snippets to relay to Beria later.
“A brief investigation has established that the blame was not yours, and you have been exonerated. I hope you’ll continue to serve Mother Russia to the best of your abilities, Comrade Nazarbayeva?”
“That has always been my only concern, my only duty, Comrade General Secretary.”
“Excellent. Then this matter is behind us, in part at least.”
He pulled out the file on the DRA.
“This… this abomination cannot be permitted to happen again, are we clear, Comrade Mayor General?”
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary. I apologise. We should have understood the information better, and armed you and Marshal Vasilevsky with more accurate details.”
Stalin held up his hand, halting her immediately.
“Enough. Errors have been made, those responsible punished, lessons have been learned. We will move on, Comrade. The NKVD also repeated those errors,” Stalin could not help himself but to crow just a little, “Something of which I reminded Marshal Beria when he had you arrested.”
Nazarbayeva nodded, still too in shock to really understand the point.
Her mind, fuzzy and indistinct, suddenly melted through the haze and focussed on one point.
“Those responsible, include me, Comrade General Secretary. That is in my report.”
He looked at the document and nodded like a sage of old.
“Ah yes, true, Comrade Nazarbayeva. But its author was another, and clearly the initial responsibility was his. His confession under questioning was sufficient.”
“Sufficient…”
“Sufficient for prompt action, Comrade Nazarbayeva. Now, let me not keep you. Take two days to recover… there is a suite for you in the Hotel National… enjoy some rest and return to your duties reinvigorated. Organise yourself, and then take some leave with your husband. I will ensure he’s available.”
She had only really comprehended the initial words.
“Comrade General Secretary, may I ask what prompt action has been taken?”
He had never really expected not to tell her everything, so was ready to answer the inevitable question.
“Polkovnik Poboshkin confessed and was executed this morning.”
He picked a list out of his second drawer.
“Of your staff, the following members confessed to deliberately sabotaging intelligence efforts and presenting you with false information, for which treasonable acts they have paid in full… Polkovnik Poboshkin, Mayor Ergotin, Kapitan Guvarin, and Mladshy Leytenant Pinkerova. You were badly served by your staff. Choose your replacements wisely, Comrade Mayor General.”
Nazarbayeva’s mind was in a whirl and she couldn’t think straight.
Most of her staff… almost all of her inner sanctum… gutted by the NKVD and the wrath of Beria.
‘Andrey… loyal Andrey…’
In her grieving mind, a happy and smiling face replaced that of her now dead aide.
‘Maya… innocent… what a brain… lost… betrayed…’
Stalin interrupted her melancholy.
“Comrade Nazarbayeva… Comrade Nazarbayeva!”
She shook herself free of it all.
“Apologies, Comrade General Secretary. I… err…”
“Yes, I know. It must come as a shock to learn of their betrayal… it always does when the closest of your circle fail you, Tatiana.”
She missed the sarcasm in his voice completely, and Molotov’s muted but nonetheless very real reaction.
“Comrade Nazarbayeva, I will arrange movement orders and leave for you and your husband at Sochi, and will ensure that my private dacha is made available for your use.”
Stalin stood and extended an arm towards the door, indicating that the female officer should now depart.
“Now, Comrade Mayor General… go and rest at the National, then enjoy your leave and return to your headquarters reinvigorated and ready to serve the party and Motherland.”
“I’ll not let the Motherland down, Comrade General Secretary.”
She saluted smartly and was gone.
Stalin looked at the closed door and his eyes narrowed.
He kept his thoughts to himself.
Breaking away from them, he turned to Molotov.
“Right, Vyacheslav, the Italians, and the Greeks?”
The attack hadn’t so much faltered as simply run out of steam logistically.
The Red Army had put up heavy resistance, mainly infantry, artillery, and anti-tank guns, and they had been overrun eventually by a combination of British artillery, RAF ground attack aircraft, Guards tanks, and, as normal, the poor bloody infantry.