“I underestimated them. Simple as. The Reds are more resilient than I could imagine, even with their physical and military weaknesses, little supply, hostile environment, and our control of the air… they have still held us up long enough for our own logistical tail to wag the dog.”
Everyone there understood that the limited gains, limited as far as Spectrum was concerned anyway, could be viewed as a setback for the Allied cause.
In truth, Spectrum had, in all its sections and sub-sections, ground the Red Air Force and Baltic Fleet down to a relative nothingness, permitting an unprecedented freedom of action in the Baltic and in the skies over most of Europe.
Soviet infrastructure had been hammered and hammered again by incessant heavy bomber attacks, hampering the front line efforts.
The Ukrainian uprising seemed to have drawn some combat formations away to help quell the revolt, inspired and provoked by Allied agent-provocateurs, although, in truth, only the timing was provoked, as the Ukrainians needed little pushing into open conflict with their Soviet masters.
This had further destabilised the Red Army, as many of her Ukrainian troops served with mixed loyalties anyway. The effectiveness of some formations was greatly reduced, as desertions and interventions by the NKVD took their toll.
The situation of the Poles was tenuous, their enclave surrounded by growing forces and the British relief stopped dead some distance hence.
Eisenhower was upbeat about the future, and this enthusiasm flowed into everyone present, as he promised that the lessons would be learned the next time, and that more and more reinforcements would be arriving, men and materiel from every Allied nation focussed on destroying the Communist state.
He closed the meeting with encouraging words.
“The Soviets have no more cards to play; they are, in essence, fully committed, almost fully spent.”
“Having tapped every source of manpower and brought their industrial base to peak production, they have simply failed to prevent our Allied armies recapturing large areas of Germany, albeit not yet back to where we started in August ’45.”
There was only one outcome now, he assured them, only one.
“The defeat of the Soviet Union is inevitable.”
And with a final flourish, Ike announced his bottom line.
“It is only a matter of time.”
Beria watched his master very closely, waiting for the final sign before the General Secretary exploded.
In reality, he was quite surprised that the man had not already exploded, given the presentation that Vasilevsky and the still weak Zhukov had laid before him.
Beria had seen men manhandled away and shot for much less than what these two Marshals had done.
And yet, the General Secretary held his peace…
“…and that, Comrades, is the present military situation. In summary, we have stopped them on all fronts. This has been achieved at great cost in manpower, equipment, and munitions… and by ceding German soil.”
Silence greeted Vasilevsky’s delivery.
Half because the men, even though they had received daily briefings, were stunned by the enormity of the ‘defeat’, and half because they dare not say anything before Stalin.
The leader of the USSR sat silently, his face devoid of everything except total anger and fury.
Vasilevsky and Zhukov knew that these men viewed what had happened as an ignominious defeat, whereas they, as military men, understood that the Red Army had achieved miracles, and had, by their own and their generals’ efforts, been preserved for another day.
Stalin rose slowly, pushing his chair back and, clasping his hands behind his back, walked around the table until he stood between the two Marshals, his eyes firmly glued to the large map that showed today’s positions.
His thoughts would have surprised everyone in the room.
‘They have disobeyed our orders… retreated… and yet had they stood… what then… what then…’
He turned to Vasilevsky so quickly that the Marshal almost jumped in surprise.
“And you, Marshal Vasilevsky,” he turned to Zhukov at similar speed, “And you, Marshal Zhukov, have both presided over this… this retreat… specifically against the orders of your leaders?”
Zhukov took the lead.
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.”
“Why?”
There was no sense in wrapping it up; both men had agreed beforehand that they would tell it how it was.
“Had we stood and fought, we would now be briefing you on the destruction of our Armies in the west… on that we are both agreed, Comrade General Secretary.”
Beria made a distinct noise in anticipation a tirade from Stalin.
There was none forthcoming.
“And what would you suggest now… now that you have done what is done and can’t be undone?”
Vasilevsky took up the baton.
“Comrade General Secretary, we must rearm and reinforce. The closer we are to the Motherland, the easier it is to get resources to our troops…” he didn’t mean it to sound like that, but it did, and more than one member of the assembled GKO envisaged a suggestion of further retreat to shorten supply lines even more, “…And less chance of interference from enemy air activity or ground attack.”
Stalin stroked his moustache into place.
“Go on, Comrade Marshal.”
“Swap out some of the units from our southern borders; the Allies are doing nothing there, so replace the quality with units under training, or badly damaged veteran units that can renew themselves away from the European war.”
Stalin scoffed immediately.
“That will bring us… what… two-three armies at best. What you need is a million men, not three armies.”
He turned to Zhukov.
“I see… you two want more from Manchuria and Siberia. No, no , no, no, no… how many times must we tell you, NO!”
He slapped the map with his bare hand, sending a few pieces of pinned paper dropping to the floor.
“If we take from there, they would be sent to the Ukraine where those bastards are playing up.”
“No, Comrade General Secretary, that is not what we suggest.”
Stalin’s mind was suddenly exactly focused on what they intended.”
“NO!”
Exasperated, he turned away.
“Comrade General Secretary,” Vasilevsky, the not-so-malleable Vasilevsky, pursued Stalin with his firm words, “If Mother Russia is to survive, then we see no alternative.”
Stalin whirled around in an instant, the outburst that Beria anticipated forming on his lips.
But it died there.
Turning back to the table, the General Secretary snatched up his cigarettes and matches, taking a couple of steadying puffs before looking Vasilevsky in the eye.
“Speak.”
“At this moment, we have one hundred and eight thousand troops dealing with matters in the Ukraine and Marshal Beria has, what… two hundred thousand NKVD troops deployed also.”
Beria conceded the number with the slightest of nods.
“Give the ex-prisoners guns and make them into units. They have skills already, so would need little training. Feed them, clothe them, and send them in against the Ukrainian rebels, which would relieve the NKVD and our Army troops for service nearer the front line.”
Stalin’s eyes narrowed as he turned to silence a rumble of protest from one corner of the room.
Bulganin, suitably cowed, stopped his discontented mumbling.
“Go on.”
“You have told us time and again that these men failed the Motherland. We all agree this… all understand it. But now the Motherland is in need. Marshal Zhukov and I believe that these men should be given an opportunity to prove themselves worthy again,” Bulganin’s mumblings started once more, “An opportunity of our choosing and one that serves the Motherland best.”