Another file was opened.
“The loss of the train transport shipment T#7979831A, as sustained on Sunday 23rd September, outside of Gniezno, was of huge importance.”
Beria shifted uncomfortably, his own NKVD troopers having suffered grievously at the hands of the Polish brigands.
“A special action train, containing an NKVD battalion, and sent ahead of 831A, was derailed and destroyed.”
Beria did not care for his shortcomings to be aired in such a fashion. The Special Action Units went ahead of important trains, intending to draw fire or set off any ambush, the well-armed NKVD battalions thought sufficient to deal with any partisans.
“831A was forced to halt, and was brought under fire from heavily armed partisans. The NKVD party travelling with 831A performed valiantly, and saved many of the personnel from being killed.”
‘You offer me an olive branch do you, bitch? Fucking bitch?’
Nazarbayeva meant no such thing, her briefing being concerned solely with the facts.
“As a result of that attack, three hundred and one newly trained aircrew were killed, and another three hundred and sixty-three wounded, removing them from immediate flying duty.”
Some had been aware that the train’s personnel had been badly hit, some had even been aware that they were precious aviators. None had been aware of the numbers, except for one man, who had managed the delivery of the bad news in the first place.
Beria removed his handkerchief and cleaned his glasses, conscious of the fact that he was under the unwavering eye of Stalin.
Nazarbayeva saved him, drawing the Soviet leader’s attention back to her.
“Comrade General Secretary, many of our air regiments are operating at below 50% strength, and the loss of 831A ensures that our air power will remain weakened for the foreseeable future.”
Taking a moment to control her delivery, she pressed on.
“On the 19th September, Marshal Novikov informed the European commanders of the new air plan, a plan that is now endangered by these losses in personnel and which, according to Air Force projections, may now only be possible if all other offensive air operations are ceased immediately.”
Stalin crushed his cigarette, doing so noisily, and making himself the focus of the room.
“So, Comrade Polkovnik, you always tell us the facts, and give us your honest interpretation. Do so now.”
There was no dressing it up, but Nazarbayeva tried to let the GKO down as lightly as possible.
“At this moment, we are barely holding our own in the air. We have some successes, but overall we lose more crews and machines than they do. The Air Force plan to limit excursions over enemy lines, as much as possible, may save a few pilots from captivity, but such efforts pale into insignificance alongside the losses sustained by events such as the attack on 831A.”
Stalin struck a match, lighting his next cigarette, the flare of the phosphorus highlighting the fact that his eyes were locked firmly on the GRU Colonel.
“That being said, the Allies are recovering from the huge destruction wrought on the RAF bomber force, and seem to be growing stronger across the spectrum of their regiments.”
She caught Beria’s eye by chance, and something flared inside, removing some of her caution in the delivery of the bad news.
“Comrades, unless new aircraft reach the regiments in large numbers, complete with properly trained flight crew, the Red Air Force will be beaten, and with that the skies will belong to the Allies, day and night.”
The atmosphere changed, so unused were the powerful men to such stark and direct delivery, all save Stalin and Beria, who had experienced Nazarbayeva’s honesty before.
The change in atmosphere did not stop her from continuing.
“Without air cover over the assault formations and supply centres, the Allies will destroy the Red Army’s capability to fight, and destroy many of the ground assets, removing the advantage we enjoy in numbers.”
Kaganovich, Bulganin, and Molotov stayed silent, their white faces indicative of the fact that they had heard something new and worrying.
Malenkov and Voznesensky spoke in shocked whispers, the invincibility of the Red Army suddenly not as assured as they had been led to believe.
Beria and Stalin, both with more information than the rest, did nothing.
“Carry on, Comrade Polkovnik, you have come this far, you should finish your delivery. What do you foresee here?”
Stalin’s voice, unusually soft, encouraged the GRU officer.
“Comrade General Secretary, unless we can give the Army and Air Force the necessary means, there will be great difficulties ahead.”
A hubbub grew as great men whispered with those sat alongside them.
It ceased as quickly as it started, as Stalin rose from his seat and walked briskly round to his small desk. Sampling the drink he had left upon it, he turned to Nazarbayeva and pounced.
“So Comrade Polkovnik, the GRU’s official position is that we are going to lose the war because of a few difficulties with our supplies, and the loss of a handful of pilots. Is that right?”
Many men had paled and shriveled under such an assault. They were not Nazarbayeva.
“No, Comrade General Secretary, that is not the official position of the GRU, neither is it my own view.”
Stalin moved closer, intimidatingly close.
“So what is the view of GRU Polkovnik Tatiana Nazarbayeva in these testing times eh? Come on, Comrade, don’t be shy!”
“Comrade General Secretary, we cannot lose the war militarily. Over the centuries, powerful armies have tried and failed, and the reasons they failed will stand Mother Russia in good stead, if she is tested again. But, I believe that if we do not resolve these present issues then we will not win the war, and that amounts to the same as losing it, as far as Mother Russia will be concerned.”
The silence was thick with risk, heavy with danger.
Stalin’s eyes bored into her own, but she stood her ground.
His eyes dropped to the Gold Star on her chest.
His face relaxed, a gentle nodding indicating the escape of tension.
Switching his cigarette into his left hand, Stalin extended his right hand and tapped the bravery award with his index finger, the touch seemingly a switch that made his face split into a grin.
The Generalissimo turned to the rest of the GKO.
“So you can see, Comrade Nazarbayeva did not get this in the ration packs, or because of her political affiliations.”
Inside, the GRU Colonel let the relief wash through her.
“I agree with your assessment, Comrade Polkovnik.”
Stalin walked round to his seat and dropped into it smoothly.
“Continue, Comrade.”
Nazarbayeva shifted her weight, the injured foot beginning to protest.
“Comrades, my information is that the Allied Commanders have not yet understood the Italian position, and they continue to bleed experienced units away from their own Italian armies to send into Germany.”
Stalin leant back in his chair and permitted others to speak, low rumbles seizing upon the positive offered to them.
Nazarbayeva decided that she could not let them continue.
“Comrades, if I may. The balance of forces is not as great in our favour as you may think. GRU can now confirm that twelve division of the Spanish Army, fully manned and equipped, with a mix of German and Allied weapons, have crossed the frontier into Northern Italy.”
The silence was deafening.
“Allied planning seems to be to permit these divisions to take over in the line from the experienced Allied divisions, which are then sent northwards.”
The low conversations broke out again, but were quickly stopped by Beria, tapping his pen on the table, eager to demonstrate his abilities to Nazarbayeva.