It was as if a light was switched on and the room was bathed in its warm glow, as Stalin understood the situation with greater clarity than ever.
“Yes… you may be right, in some respects… our comrades on the GRU and NKVD will find out as quickly as possible.”
Stalin’s words translated into definite orders in the minds of both Beria and Nazarbayeva.
“But that is for later. For now, tell us what you intend to do about that.”
Vasilevsky inwardly relaxed, knowing that he had passed an important point and would not be relieved, or worse, this day.
“Comrades, whether I am right or wrong, I intend to go with my gut feeling and attack our enemy… mainly one enemy… attack hard and without mercy, where I cannot attack, I will defend fanatically, using every resource at my disposal,” his voice almost slipped into a soft fairy tale tone as he slipped his eyes over the map, eyeing the points where he would implement his plan, “…With the intention of bringing him to his knees politically… to inflict awful loss upon him… savage him… kill him in huge numbers…”
Vasilevsky suddenly remembered where he was and turned back to the GKO.
“We will knock him out of the war by using his own political system against him. Kill their sons and husbands in such numbers that the will to fight will go and the political pressure to withdraw will be irresistible.”
Stalin and his cronies were amazed at Vasilevsky’s presentation, seeing it appear to lapse into more of a political diatribe than a military presentation.
“Which of the lackeys will we turn, Comrade Marshal?”
Vasilevsky smiled at Molotov’s question.
“Oh no, Comrade Molotov, you don’t understand. Not a lackey, but the leader. We will drive the Amerikanski out of the war.”
By the end of all the presentations, the malaise had lifted from the GKO and a new spirit of optimism positively oozed from every pore.
Beria and Nazarbayeva had definite orders to support Vasilevsky’s military plan, and Vasilevsky had confidently put his intentions over, intentions that were approved there and then.
The ever-present supply and fuel issues were addressed, and positive sounds made, although there the military men present retained doubts that the promises would be met, given that none made in the last eight months had even been close to actual figures arriving at the front. Plus, the last vestiges of production from the Caucasian, Caspian oil fields, and from Ploesti, had come to an end, courtesy of the intense Allied bombing campaign.
Never the less, the fuel was promised, and no one dared to question the figures in the face of such positive feelings.
To back up the promise, an impeccably dressed professor was hustled into the meeting, just to deliver a small presentation on how to obtain fuel from other sources.
Stalin and most of the GKO pretended to take in the science of the hydrogenation of coal, with the possibilities for future fuel uses.
The presentation also covered octane levels and the need for high-octane fuels, especially for aircraft, which was received with a modicum of understanding.
They nearly grasped the process of extracting synthetic fuel from coal, although the Fischer-Tropsch process was well over everyone’s head, except for the scientist summoned to try and explain it.
They understood far better that the oilfields discovered in Tatarstan and Orsk now secretly pumped their products to the new refinery at Yamansarovo, a facility constructed in record time and, importantly, one as yet undetected by the Allies.
Even though they were still months away from anything like decent production from Yamansarovo, it was a much happier group that went their separate ways as Thursday slipped quietly into Friday.
The Gedser-Warnemünde ferry had pulled out exactly on schedule, carrying a leavening of civilian traffic alongside the German military unit to be transported to the mainland that day.
At 1106 precisely, the bow of the ferry briefly encountered one of the mines released during the destruction of L3 ‘Frunzenets’, the Soviet mine-laying submarine lost during the Spectrum operations months beforehand.
All over the ship, men, women, and children were knocked off their feet by the shock that hammered through the structure. The harmful waves of energy sought out weakness and opened up leaks from plates to shaft stuffing boxes.
The whole front of the ferry opened like a whale’s mouth, scooping up the sea as the engines drove the vessel forward and under the water.
Boats hastily put out from Gedser, but found little to rescue, and spent more time recovering the dead.
Pionier-Bataillon 230 of the 169th Infanterie Division lost all but two dozen men, and only three of the party of children from the Nykøbing Katedralskole survived to return to their loved ones.
The long dead crew of ‘Frunzenets’ had added over six hundred lives to their haul of victims.
Gently moving backwards and forwards in the comfortable rattan rocking chair, Olivia Francesca von Sandow checked out the other occupants of the hemicycle, a leavening of the rich and famous in American society, all enjoying the lavish surroundings and the strange pseudo anonymity offered by the presence of those of similar status.
A recent arrival in Washington society, von Sandow was the deputy cultural attaché at the reopened German Embassy, and already one of the first names on the list of the ‘A’ party circuit.
The reasons for that were not only her exquisite looks and fabulous figure, but also for her intellect and wit, a quadruple combination that made her irresistible to men of power.
Which was why she was waiting patiently in the hemicycle, her hastily arranged leave from work in place, allowing her to meet ‘clandestinely’ with her latest lover.
He arrived on cue, flourishing roses and chocolates.
“Darling Olivia… you look wonderful, honey.”
He kissed her firmly on the offered cheek and she accepted the offerings as if they were nectar from the Gods.
“Humphrey, darling, so punctual… and thank you… they’re wonderful.”
He smiled the usual dazzling smile, the one that his reputation as a ladies man was founded upon.
“Only the best for you, honey.”
He looked at his watch and made his move.
“Now, do you need to freshen up after your journey, or shall we have dinner first?”
Olivia von Sandow half closed her eyes, pursing her lips in an innocent but completely not in the slightest bit innocent fashion.
“Actually, Humphrey, I wondered if we might eat in the room? I’m really very tired and would much prefer something more intimate… if that’s ok with you, darling?”
Seven minutes later, Humphrey exploded noisily inside her mouth, her expert ministrations relieving his pent-up sexual frustration.
“Fucking hell, Olivia. And on a first date too!”
She gave a little shrug.
“Is any purpose served by beating about the bush, Humphrey? You’re here to fuck me… I’m here because I want to be fucked by you.”
Her direct approach was like an aphrodisiac to his ears.
“Anyway, you really did need that, didn’t you, darling Humphrey?”
Looking down with the biggest of grins, he ran his fingers through her long dark hair and cupped her chin with great tenderness.