“Acting on the decision by STAVKA, we centralised our major fuel resources in four well-disguised locations, fit to service the battle fronts in Europe.”
He extracted a file, a copy of which was being distributed by his second assistant, a Major whose two sons lay long dead on the battlefield of Kursk.
Stalin’s eyes never left Vasilevsky, seemingly unaware of the document offered up to him.
Beria took it for him, and placed it gently in front of the pre-occupied dictator.
“Comrades, you will see from this file that my responsible senior officers discharged their orders to the fullest extent, and exceeded the standards set within the STAVKA order. The standards were rigorously checked, and diligent security was provided by significant forces provided by NKVD Leytenant General Dustov.”
Vasilevsky took a sip of water to ease his rapidly drying throat.
“As directed, we created these facilities adjacent to large well-known sites, but in secret, and under heavy camouflage. We avoided direct support from AA units, in order to not draw suspicion on the areas.”
“I concentrated virtually my entire frontal fuel reserve within these four facilities.”
The dawn of realisation started to spread in the minds of the more able members present.
“Comrades, I regret to inform you that yesterday afternoon… American, British, and German aircraft destroyed virtually the entire fuel reserve of the Red Banner Forces of Soviet Europe, leaving me only with the fuel held at Front Level, and any fuel in transit, minus wastage that will inevitably accrued, given the Allied mastery of the air.”
Vasilevsky suddenly realised that no one was looking at him.
All eyes were on Stalin, whose eyes were very firmly burning with anger.
“What’s this? WHAT… IS… THIS? You’re given simple instructions and fail to carry them out, and all of a sudden it’s the fault of STAVKA?”
Vasilevsky looked at Zhukov for support, and remembered that there would be none coming.
“No, Comrade General Secretary. The reasoning was sound. Our air assets were able to concentrate for interceptions without drawing attention to the locations, as was predicted. Distribution from those sites that were fully established and operational was excellent, and losses in fuel supplies due to fixed site attacks dropped dramatically.”
“And yet they were attacked, Vasilevsky… destroyed!”
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.”
“How can this be….eh… how can this have happened if you and your fucking officers were so fucking brilliant… so fucking diligent at discharging STAVKA’s fucking orders!”
“We do not know… I do not know, Comrade General Secretary. There must have been a flaw in the execution… some security lapse… but all four were struck within ten minutes of each other… plus there was an attack on a medical facility… one that was a mirror of the other attacks… so I believe that they thought it was also a fuel depot… which makes me think that there was an error that they spotted with all five sites.”
“So, an error with your efforts to discharge the orders of STAVKA?”
“The troops undertook the orders to the letter. The NKVD inspection teams found nothing to fault at all four fuel sites…nothing, Comrade General Secretary.”
“And yet, the fuel the Motherland entrusted to you is no more, Comrade Marshal.”
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.”
“Comrade Beria, do you have these inspection reports to hand?”
Of course, Beria did and produced them from his briefcase.
They supported Vasilevsky’s assertion as to the excellence of the entire projects.
Stalin gave them a cursory look and almost tossed them back to the silent Beria.
“So, Comrade Marshal. You’ve managed to lose the fuel for your army. Have you come here to propose an end to offensive action?”
“No, Comrade General Secretary.”
“No?”
“I’ve come here to propose much, much more.”
A murderous silence stilled everything in the room. Even the grandfather clock seemed reluctant to tick in the presence of such violent, quiet anger.
Stalin drained the last of his chilled orange juice, produced a cigarette, and lit it, all with the gusto of a silent screen actor… combined with the focus and concentration of an executioner.
Those watching and listening held their collective breath.
Beria saw the opportunity and pounced immediately.
“Comrade General Secretary… perhaps we should hear from the GRU on this matter, as Comrade Nazarbayeva is well-placed to be able to comment on the situation.”
It was not intended as a snub to Vasilevsky, but that didn’t stop the Marshal seeing it as such, and a real enemy was made.
“Indeed. Comrade Nazarbayeva. The GRU’s position on events?”
“Comrade General Secretary, I can only agree the figures as stated by Comrade Marshal Vasilevsky. The fuel situation is grave beyond comprehension. What seemed like a good idea has not proven to be so, and the army is now crippled because of it.”
Vasilevsky tried to interrupt but was cut short by the angry Stalin.
“Shut up… Comrade Nazarbayeva, your accusation against STAVKA aside, is there any indication from the enemy regarding attacks, reactions to our own efforts, or anything at all to support the Marshal’s notion of cancelling any offensive action, retreat, or whatever it is he intends to recommend… shut up!”
His hand shot out, emphasising his words, as Vasilevsky again tried to speak.
“Comrade General Secretary, I do not know what Comrade Marshal Vasilevsky intends to suggest to the GKO. I am not privy to his inner thoughts.”
Usually correct but, in this instance, it was a lie, as she had been party to the discussions in Vasilevsky’s office.
The brief silence decided Beria, and he helped her along the path of self-destruction.
“So what would you suggest then, Comrade Nazarbayeva.”
Stalin turned to chew lumps off the head of the NKVD for interrupting, but stopped himself and, wishing to hear the reply, turned back to the woman GRU officer.
“Speak, Comrade Nazarbayeva. You should know that I will listen to views honestly given in the service of the party and the Motherland.”
No one present was under any illusions that some views were simply too honest to deliver… and live.
“Comrade General Secretary, I’m not a strategist like the Marshal or yourself, but the matter seems clear as clear can be to me.”
Stalin laughed, and a few other dry throats joined in, more out of nerves than appreciating the humour that Stalin had found in her words.
“Then please, Comrade Nazarbayeva, make it all clear for me… for us…”
He waved his hand over the assembly, neatly depositing a large lump of ash on Beria’s tunic.
“Comrade General Secretary.”
She turned to Vasilevsky.
“Comrade Marshal, do you have the figures on fuel stocks held ready for review?”
He nodded, first to her, and then to the major, who dragged a cover off a display stand.
Vasilevsky spoke slowly and evenly.
“Comrade General Secretary, these figures represent the last fuel available to the Red Banner Forces, from those held at battalion level, all the way to Front stocks.”
Stalin nodded and returned his gaze to Nazarbayeva, ignoring the figures on the display.
She thumbed through her own folder, as those who needed them reached for their glasses.
All absorbed the awfulness of the figures in front of them.
“Red Banner Forces, in the person of Marshal Vasilevsky, had no reason other than to assume that the STAVKA fuel stocks had been maintained at the stated combat levels. I was previously aware, and reported this problem to him on Friday evening during a senior officers meeting. At that time, regretfully, I informed Marshal Vasilevsky that that is not the case, and that STAVKA fuel reserves have been slowly fed into the main supply system, denuding stocks to a critical level.”