Task Force Butcher was a different story.
There was none of it left as far as he could see, not a single GI had yet reported in; a single half-track or gun found its way to safety.
‘Poor bastards.’
Sure, the Soviet infantry had been given a good hammering, and their armour, particularly the heavy tank unit, had been heavily worked over.
But the enemy held the field, the unsuspected arrivals from the north clinching the victory for them.
A particularly hot piece of beef burnt his tongue, causing him to breathe furiously, bringing cool air to the afflicted area.
The pain brought a new line of thought.
‘I wonder how old Knocke would see today?’
He determined to test the next piece of beef before committing to its consumption.
It was fine, and he chewed as he contemplated his own question.
‘I daresay he would say you’re alive, tomorrow is another day and you will do better next time.’
Hardegen laughed loudly, amused by his own reply.
DeMarco toyed with his meal, the appetite drained from him by the loss of some of his friends. Hardegen’s laugh seemed so out of place to a man grieving for close comrades.
‘Merda! How can you laugh, you heartless bastardo?’
Hardegen caught the gunner’s look, and immediately knew what the Italian-American was thinking.
Picking up his coffee, he moved over and dropped down beside DeMarco.
They ate together, drank together, smoked together, and spoke of friends they would never see again.
Chapter 86 – THE BRIEFING
You people are telling me what you think I want to know. I want to know what is actually happening.
Nazarbayeva had timed everything very deliberately, ensuring that she had sufficient time to visit St Basil’s Cathedral, a long cherished ambition.
Never particularly religious, but also not anti, like good communists were supposed to be, the splendour of the domes gripped her, and the incredible interior transported her with its beauty.
The fact that she was in the uniform of Soviet Military Intelligence guaranteed that she would enjoy it in peace.
After having her fill of the grandeur, the GRU Colonel strode purposefully across Red Square, through security, and into the hallowed halls, for her 10am meeting with the GKO.
She sat outside the conference room, her eyes drawn to the huge ornate clock, ticking away with a steady and heavy beat, just as the radio propaganda clock did at Stalingrad. Her mind was suddenly transported back to those desperate times, ‘tick-tock, tick-tock, another German dead.’
10:23.
It was unusual for all meeting times not to run to order.
‘Is there something wrong?’
The door opened, and a stern-faced NKVD Major-General she did not recognize, demanded her presence.
On entering the room, she was momentarily surprised to find the entire GKO seated around the huge table, all expectantly looking directly at her.
The door closed noisily behind her, stiffening her resolve.
Stalin rose from a small separate desk and moved to the prime position, sat between Bulganin and Molotov.
“Comrade Polkovnik Nazarbayeva, our apologies, but other matters have had to take precedence this morning. May I offer you my condolences for the loss of your son.”
Beria remained transfixed by the report in front of him, a small curl in his lip the only sign of his inner thoughts.
“Thank you, Comrade General Secretary.”
More than one pair of eyes swiveled to examine their leader’s face, desperate to find some reason for his uncharacteristic apology and concern.
They found none.
Extending his hand, Stalin invited the GRU Colonel to begin.
Nazarbayeva had been kept waiting because the GKO had been looking at a report from the Far East, in which Vasilevsky detailed reverses, both to his own and Japanese forces, in northern and southern China respectively.
They were already chastened, and had no need for more bad news.
Which was unfortunate.
“Comrade General Secretary, Comrades, a GRU asset within the Royal Air Force has informed us that the targeting of Allied airpower resources has now firmly changed to our support and supply assets, based on their interpretation and intelligence gained, regarding a definite supply issue for the Red Army.”
More than one of the old men slumped in his chair.
“This has been the case for a few days now, and the results are wiping out the improvements made since the issues of supply were first highlighted.”
Nazarbayeva handed over a report containing estimates on losses in reinforcements and supplies.
Stalin slid it across to Bulganin, who deftly deposited it in front of Beria.
The rest of the GKO watched the balding NKVD supremo closely as he quickly scanned the figures and gave the briefest of nods.
‘They knew?’
“Your figures tally with those supplied by Comrades Beria and Kaganovich. However, the reason behind this has now become clearer. Continue Comrade.”
“Comrades, the situation will not improve and GRU expects the attacks to grow in frequency and strength.”
There was an expectant silence, and one that also carried all the dangers of telling great men that their plans were failing.
“Allied air power is growing. Their factories are producing at full capacity. Efforts, such as the NKVD sabotage mission at Boeing in Seattle have had no effect.”
Their silence invited her to continue, but had she looked at Beria, she would have noted something unpleasant in his eyes.
“Our Red Navy has performed magnificently, but recent losses in the Atlantic submarine force have reduced their effectiveness, and no sinkings of note have been made for some time now.”
All in the room understood that the Soviet Navy would try to get more submarines into the deep waters of the Atlantic, and those who were not foolish enough to believe the assurances of the Admirals understood that the attempts would almost certainly end in failure. After all, the Allied navies had defeated the most powerful submarine force in history, a force designed to be ocean-going, and their combat efficiency in anti-submarine warfare was now back to German war levels.
“Our Air Force makes accurate claims now that the system for reporting has been adjusted.”
Sliding free a page from one report, Nazarbayeva quickly reminded herself of some figures.
“Our own air regiments have suffered crippling losses, and we have been unable to make good the gaps in our order of battle, especially as we have started to lose machines from mechanical failure, caused by an absence of spares. By example, two regiments equipped with Capitalist Aircobra aircraft can now muster eight aircraft between them, the others having been cannibalized to keep the remainder flying.”
Malenkov, whose portfolio was primarily concerned with aircraft production, started coughing and spluttering, so much so that all attention focused on him, until a helpful but overzealous thump on the back from Molotov brought an end to the interlude.
“Losses in air force personnel have been huge, both in the air and on the ground, the allied attacks on our airfields killing many qualified ground staff.”