“Right, Yefreytor, show me.”
The Bulgarian corporal, terrified by the presence of a Soviet Major, and one from the NKVD no less, pointed towards the entrance that had been exposed by the crash and subsequent detonation of the Marauder’s pair of thousand pounders.
He had the presence of mind to send his junior man to report their discovery, which report had brought immediate attention from the Soviet security service.
“Here, Comrade Mayor… we made the entrance a little bigger.”
The Bulgarian corporal pointed again, just to make sure that the Major understood that the modest opening was actually the one that had caused all the excitement.
“Stay here, Comrade… when my men turn up, tell Kapitan Lapitin to join me inside.”
Understanding that he had been dismissed, the Bulgarian saluted and beat a hasty retreat, much to his own relief.
The NKVD officer switched on his torch and slipped inside.
“Comrade Mayor?”
“Comrade Lapitin! Here… look at this!”
Major Voronin was the unexcitable type… normally.
But this was not ‘normally’.
Not by any stretch of the imagination.
“Comrade May…”
Lapitin’s jaw hung open as the torch beam flicked from him to a row of aircraft fuselages, all marked with the Balkenkreuz of Nazi Germany.
“This way… I need your help… quickly…”
Voronin led off hurriedly, almost losing Lapitin in his haste to get where he was going.
Almost as quickly, he slammed into the back of his Major, who had stopped at a solid steel door.
Voronin shone his torch on a sign.
“Look… stromgenerator… help me with the door.”
Lapitin’s German was not very good, and he understood the signage more by the graphics than the words.
The two of them heaved on the locking handle, and were greeted by a response.
Inside the room was clean and tidy, and smelt of oil.
They examined the silent generators, wordlessly, thoughtfully, deciding what to do next.
Voronin made the decision, having wisely checked that the generator was connected to a vent.
“Let’s get one started.”
The task was quickly performed, and it was a testament to German engineering and maintenance that a machine that had lain undisturbed for over a year started smoothly and without issues.
“I think this one here,” Voronin announced, more for his own benefit, as he threw a large switch.
Nothing.
Lapitin found the wall switch and flicked it warily, bathing the generator room in yellow light.
“That’s a lot of generator for so small a light, Comrade!”
The light was also creeping through the door jam.
Both officers approached the steel door and pushed it open again.
They were rewarded by light everywhere they looked.
And everywhere they looked they saw things… things with the Balkenkreuz… or the swastika… or…
“Blyad!”
As they walked on through the huge tunnels, the contents became more and more bizarre.
Aircraft…
Large rockets…
Small rockets…
Sealed rooms with heavy duty vision panels containing solid metal chests marked with the symbols of death…
The two officers, motivated by greed and curiosity in equal measure, opened one, striking off the heavy duty padlocks.
Lapitin opened a heavy casket and ran his fingers over the object it contained.
Whatever the metal was, it was clearly not valuable, so they closed the lid and moved on, sealing the room back up behind them.
Fuel vapours of some sort assaulted them as they moved deeper into the unknown, the odours making them both light-headed as they moved past that particular storage tunnel.
Starting to feel sick, the two men decided they had seen enough to make an exciting report to their commander, and returned to switch off the generator.
Voronin posted a full NKVD security detail to secure the underground site, and the two returned to Sankt Georgen to telephone a report to Voronin’s superior officer.
Both men were blissfully unaware that from the moment they had let greed overcome natural caution, their lives were forfeit, and that they had been fatally wounded. Their wounds made no marks, left no trace, at least not yet, but they were deep and deadly, and neither would see Christmas or his family again.
The metal they had uncovered was valuable in a very different way.
The briefing on the welcome increase in Italian Communist partisan activity was concluded before Stalin turned to acknowledge the woman officer’s presence.
“We are thankful that you have been spared, Comrade Nazarbayeva.”
Unusually for Stalin, he actually meant the words of sympathy he offered the injured GRU General.
The flight she was on had come under attack from Allied fighters, fast jets by all accounts.
The speed differentials had saved the Li-2 transport aircraft at first, and then the escort rallied and drove off the enemy jets, but not before the fuselage had received a number of hits, and Nazarbayeva had her arm slashed by a piece of flying debris.
The meeting had commenced at the allotted time and was already in full swing when she arrived.
A folder containing the latest military production and training figures was thrust at her and she quickly came up to speed on events behind the lines as the briefing continued.
Production and training were good, although the manpower pool was smaller than ever.
The problem of getting new equipment forward remained and losses were still running high due to Allied air intervention, but less so to partisan activity.
Enough higher quality weapons were getting through to make a difference, although she had seen a number of military reports that suggested priority should be given to ensuring adequate deliveries of standard ammunition, qualified replacements, fuel, and food, rather than the latest weaponry.
Three other folders lay silently in front of her position, containing information on the briefings that had already taken place.
She had missed the latest update on the Ukrainian uprising but was, in any case, fully aware that it was almost totally suppressed now, the ex-POWs keen to display their prowess and renewed commitment to the Motherland. The file held no real secrets for her.
She had also missed the Army position on the events in Europe, and how the plan to inflict more casualties on the US forces seemed to be succeeding. Again, Vasilevsky had ensured she had been kept fully informed along the way.
Malinin, standing in for Vasilevsky, tapped the folder containing the latest production figures for oil and coal, suggesting she might like to look at it.
She cast her eye over it, not sure if she liked the figures or not, but was quickly distracted by the discussion on armaments, and the extremely positive statements about the new weapons, particularly tanks and aircraft.
As normal, she divided every figure by a half, but still the projections were every bit as impressive as the current values.
In her mind, Nazarbayeva pondered the addition of the POWs to the order of battle…
The urgent knocking at the door cut through everything, except Stalin’s indignation at the disturbance.
“I said no interruptions…”
Stalin’s anger turned to curiosity in an instant, the sight of a red-faced NKVD Lieutenant-General holding an armful of files enough to stop his tirade in its tracks.
“Comrade General Kaganovich?”
The Deputy Head of the NKVD, recently promoted for his part in the prevention of assassination attempt on Stalin, spoke quickly.
“Comrade General Secretary, my apologies, but I knew you would not wish this information kept from this meeting. It is of vital interest and I believe you should see it immediately.”