Nazarbayeva checked herself, realising that her own voice was rising with anger.
She continued in a more controlled fashion.
“I understand when I cannot win, Comrade General Secretary, and also when I must do what is unpalatable to avoid losing.”
Vasilevsky moved forward with a napkin and offered it up as the blood started to flow more readily, her own anger still rising and causing her blood pressure to rise.
“I am yours to command, Comrade General Secretary, and you may beat me, or worse, as you wish. But that will not change a single fact here. To preserve the army, and therefore the party and state, peace must be sought. In the short term, there is no choice. It will buy time… perhaps enough for Comrade Kurchatov’s weapons to become available, but certainly time that will help the army recover. At this moment, we cannot win, Comrade General Secretary, but we can… we must… avoid losing.”
She wiped a run of blood and, as she did it, she saw a lessening in the dictator’s tension, his body relaxing in some small measure.
“Comrade General Secretary, you have done this before, in a different way. You bought time in the struggle against the Germanski, signing an unpalatable pact with them, all for the benefit of the Rodina. You saw then that it was the best way to protect the party and state… saw what many others could not. I’m sure you will see it again… here… in these circumstances.”
Stalin said nothing as he resumed his seat, a nothing that clearly signalled a reduction in the tension.
Nazarbayeva’s left eye started to lose full vision, as swelling and bruising acted.
None the less, she held firm and waited.
They all waited.
Finally, Stalin pointed a finger at Vasilevsky.
“Marshal? Does your opinion correspond to that put forward by the GRU?”
Kuznetsov, the GRU head, briefly considered stating that it was not his opinion but, wisely, the GRU chief thought better of it.
Vasilevsky moved forward and stood beside Nazarbayeva.
“Comrade General Secretary… unless you and the GKO have some device, some plan, some strategy that is hidden to me, I can only agree that a peace, even a temporary one, is the only way to preserve what we presently have and hold.”
Stalin blanked Vasilevsky and turned to Zhukov.
“And you, Georgy Zhukov, Marshal of the Soviet Union… the victory bringer… what is your opinion on this grave matter eh?”
He too moved forward, flanking the GRU general.
“I agree, Comrade General Secretary. Unless you have some brilliant plan that is not known to me, the only course of action to preserve our army is to seek a truce.”
Beria whispered something under his breath, an inaudible something that clearly was not in agreement with the three officer’s view.
However inaudible, Stalin heard it and turned on him in an instant.
“Comrade Marshal Beria, we’ll hear your alternative plan shortly. For now, keep your views to yourself. Summon your men.”
Beria moved to the telephone and, in response to his words, the door opened and in walked Colonels Sardeon and Sarkisov.
“Comrade Beria, have your men detain these five officers in this building until otherwise ordered. If any of them try to leave, they are to be shot immediately.”
Beria simply had to nod, as both colonels had heard Stalin’s words.
Supported by a squad of NKVD troopers, they escorted the military group from the hall.
Stalin refilled his glass and took a healthy swig of the chilled juice before speaking to the silent group of grey-faced men.
“Comrades… speak.”
Half expecting to be shot, the three were greatly relieved to be ushered into the Andreyevsky Hall once more. The two junior officers, having not been included in the orders delivered to Sardeon and Sarkisov, were left behind under armed guard.
Sat facing them were a grim faced GKO, some clearly more angry than others.
Zhukov led the trio in, and immediately wondered which of these men would stand as his accuser, and condemn him for his treachery to the Motherland.
He took a position of attention and wondered what marvel of manoeuvring these politicians had conceived to extricate the Red Army from the morass of their own making.
Vasilevsky and Nazarbayeva took station beside him.
The answer was delivered quickly, and in an unexpected fashion.
Beria sent his two henchmen away with a dismissive wave.
“Comrade Marshal Zhukov… perhaps Comrade Beria acted precipitously… an unfortunate set of circumstances.”
Beria looked wide mouthed at his leader for the briefest of moments, before he recovered his poise.
“Comrade Vasilevsky… you and Comrade Zhukov have presided over this debacle… this abomination… and yet, perhaps, you are not wholly to blame. The GKO has decided to give you both the opportunity to recover our confidence.”
He looked directly at Nazarbayeva, who returned his gaze with eyes burning in defiance, albeit one was closed by the swelling of her cheek.
“And you, Comrade Nazarbayeva… you and your prized organisation seem to have failed to properly arm us with the information needed to avoid all these… these… disasters,” he waved at the European situation map, “As has the NKVD…”
Beria blanched but offered no protest, probably because it was totally true.
“…But you have mostly been efficient in your duties and, in this most recent instance, spoke clearly, and… no, in all instances… you have spoken in the best interests of the Party and the Rodina as you have seen it.”
He went as far as he felt he could.
“What happened was regrettable, Comrade Nazarbayeva.”
Which was more than Comrade Stalin had ever gone before.
And, as far as the leader was concerned, that was that, and he moved on.
“It has been decided that the Red Army needs time to recover from the unfortunate and adverse prevailing circumstances that have recently robbed it of a portion of its capability.”
The military men understood face-saving politicians speak when they heard it.
“We will use the present circumstances to seek a truce, during which we will renew our forces, sow political discord throughout the Allied nations, and wait for the most favourable time to continue with our overall plan.”
Stalin sought eye contact with the head of the Soviet Union’s atomic programme, and found it, before Kurchatov broke it by dropping his gaze to pretend to search for something vital amongst his papers.
“Given some of the recent difficulties with Operation Raduga, we propose to halt all special actions, and use the time to enhance and refine our own programmes… all the better to ensure greater success when the plans come to fruition.”
Zhukov took a quick look at Isakov, who understood the enquiry that flowed from the Marshal’s eyes.
‘The Japanese?’
Isakov could only give the smallest of shrugs before Stalin’s voice overrode their quiet exchange.
“However, it is vital that we negotiate from a position of maximum strength, so… to that end… the Red Army will maintain its operational effectiveness at all times, using whatever means are at its disposal to ensure that we have the best possible military platform from which to contrive a temporary cessation on the best possible terms.”
Vasilevsky and Zhukov groaned inside, knowing that those words would mean the deaths of countless more soldiers.
“We entrust that task to you both.”
A single nod each was all they could manage.
“Now, let’s get down to planning this maskirovka.”