“Your thoughts, Mikhail?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, the reply, obviously already carefully considered, came tumbling out.
“Comrade Marshal, we have the manpower to guard our dumps effectively, and the AA capability to protect them from air attack no less than we did before.”
That statement was a simple truth, although the Allied capability to interdict their supplies and transport routes was much higher than had been anticipated.
“Concentrating supplies is an accepted practice, but not one that can now stand, given recent events.”
Zhukov nodded his agreement.
“Whilst our supply officers do not place munitions and non-munitions side by side, we clearly have a major issue with collateral damage. So, I suggest that we order Front Supply Officers to separate explosive and non-explosive stocks, to limit losses from secondary explosions, and set minimum distances between locations.”
“Agreed. Prepare that order immediately, as a priority, Comrade.”
Zhukov carefully laid the report back on the pile.
“And your report on this one?”
“Will exactly reflect that of Comrade Marshal Bagramyan in every way, Comrade.”
Zhukov laughed, short but loud.
“He may be a bastard, and a wily old fox, but he is no fool, and certainly no liar. Sometimes I wish I didn’t like him!”
Malinin smiled with his commander in chief.
Having second thoughts, Zhukov tapped the report with his fingertips.
“Have another look, Mikhail. Find me some bridging assets that I can give him as a present, eh?”
“I will do my best, Comrade Marshal.”
Zhukov remained in the office as the door closed behind his CoS, interpreting the information in his mind, seeing the disadvantages grow as every day went past, and finding less in his pocket to produce to overcome them.
‘We are still winning, and the necessary requirements will come, and they will allow us to end this stupidity within six months.’
‘Do you really believe that you fool?’
‘Of course I believe in our victory. Why else would I fight?’
‘You fight because you are a soldier and your Motherland calls you. But can you still believe in the sweeping victory you spoke of two months ago?’
‘Yes, I must!’
The other voice laughed deeply, in such a way as to show its contempt.
‘Yes, Georgy Konstantinovich, the victory Bringer, you must!’
The previous evening it had been President Truman, the clipped tones stating the position of the country, the expectations of the country, the tolerance thresholds of the country, and in the doing, made Eisenhower aware that he was not indispensable.
‘You think I care more for my career than I do for the lives of my soldiers?’
Truman has ended the call reiterating that the public appetite for the new war, and more so, the growing casualty lists caused by it, was disappearing fast.
Ike had lit a cigarette as the President had approached his verbal zenith, and then, afforded an opportunity to put over his view of the future, firmed up the military operations he had roughly outlined sometime beforehand.
Roused at 0700 precisely, abruptly awoken by a concerned voice, as the flustered orderly thrust the telephone receiver into his hand.
The voice on the end of the phone had finished the job of drawing him from his slumbers. Quite clearly, his political masters had a plan to impress upon him their displeasure at the losses suffered by the Allied Armies.
His president the last evening.
The British Prime Minister in the morning.
Churchill, starting with yet another apology for Attlee’s antics, soon turned predator, stating a national position identical to that of Truman’s, the night before.
Eisenhower found his plans sat easier with the British Leader, perhaps because of his personal military experiences. Truman had served as an artillery officer in the Great War, but never quite seemed, certainly not to Ike, to demonstrate the military understanding that Winston brought to discussions.
The Prime Minister had wholeheartedly approved of Eisenhower’s intentions, and promised that the British and Dominion forces would be fully committed when the time came.
The last part of the conversation was less comfortable for both men.
The Attlee issue was a source of great embarrassment to His Majesty’s Government, and Churchill returned to it, and spent much of his time reassuring Eisenhower as to the strength of the British commitment.
So, two hours later, Eisenhower was listening to the report from his senior intelligence officer, hearing the confirmation he needed to hear to feel secure in his relationship with the Brits.
Major General Kenneth Strong, SHAEF’s G2 Intelligence Chief, was passing on the official report from Winston’s office, detailing everything that was known about the Attlee fiasco, which report confirmed that it was simply the failed nerve of one man that had caused such problems for the Allies.
Ike was only just realising how many problems, as McCreery’s weekly report was also fresh on his desk, illustrating the heavy casualties taken by the United Kingdom and her colonies.
The policy of inserting suitably recovered POW’s was working, but still the levels of manpower had fallen noticeably.
The attritional losses of equipment were heavy, by both wear and accident, as well as combat.
Of note were the losses of Churchill tanks, far and away higher than those of the other British types.
A cough made him realise that he had become unfocussed.
The report had finished.
“I am sorry, Kenneth. Anyway, thank you, and that all seems to be a done deal now, so let’s move on. What else do you have for me?”
“I have received intelligence suggesting that the number of active armed groups behind the lines is much larger than we thought, Sir.”
Lighting another cigarette, Eisenhower looked puzzled.
“I thought you had limited assets the other side of the line, Kenneth?”
“True, but not so our German Allies. Their General Gehlen has been extremely obliging, providing us with information that his network has obtained throughout Eastern Europe, including Russia herself, Sir.”
Bedell-Smith had made his acquaintance with the shadowy Gehlen an hour beforehand, exchanging brief pleasantries before the German spymaster disappeared into the private office of Lieutenant Colonel Rossiter USMC.
His first impressions were not good.
‘Handshake like a wet fish.’
None the less, it was impossible not to give him credit for what his organisation was achieving for the Allied cause.
“Sir, according to Gehlen’s reports, the Red Army is losing upwards of a dozen train loads of supplies a day. Losses that are starting in the Ukraine, where there is considerable discontent, through to Poland and Czechoslovakia, where partisans are being extremely successful.”
This was music to Eisenhower’s ears, and the modest, savoured draw on his cigarette was a sure sign of his approval.
“Gehlen also draws attention to the Werewolf network, which is functioning so much better against the Soviets than it ever did against us.”
‘That isn’t difficult, Kenneth.’
“Preliminary indications are that it was a Werewolf unit that was responsible for the ground attack on the large supply site near Ingolstadt, an attack that we subsequently exploited to great effect, judging by the air-recon I have seen.”
Ike nodded, partially in pleasure, and partially to encourage the Brit to get on with it.