Robert Conroy - Red Inferno

No matter what time he got free, he would call her.

Marshal Zhukov did not look pleased at having been pulled from his army group headquarters for consultations with Stalin in Moscow. Prudently, he did not say anything. If Josef Stalin wanted to speak to him, then so be it.

Stalin entered the room and went through the familiar ritual of lighting his battered pipe. He sucked deeply and released a cloud of smoke. “Is Hitler dead?”

Zhukov was unperturbed by the question. “He may well be, Comrade Stalin, but we haven’t yet received proof. Our army is within sight of both the Reichstag and the Chancellery. Dead or alive, he will be rooted from his cave in a very short while. The Third Reich now consists of a few blocks in the center of Berlin.”

“And, Marshal Zhukov, what of the American force that reached so near to Berlin?”

“Pinned down in Potsdam, Comrade Stalin. We have, at last count, taken several thousand American prisoners and more will surely fall into our hands as our soldiers round up their strays, who are wandering about in total confusion.”

Stalin nodded, pleased. Thousands of hostages, he thought. The Americans were so sensitive regarding the lives of their soldiers. When the time came they would do anything to get them back. “What are you doing about the American perimeter at Potsdam?”

“At the moment, very little,” Zhukov replied. “I have a reinforced second-echelon infantry corps under Major General Bazarian watching them and blocking any attempt at withdrawal toward the Elbe. The main part of my army is concentrating on finishing the task in Berlin and on reaching the Elbe. The Americans in Potsdam can wait. They will be there when we want them.”

The Russian army was so huge that the name of General Bazarian did not ring a bell with Stalin. Obviously, the man was Armenian. Second echelon meant that Bazarian’s troops were shit.

“Good,” said Stalin. “All is in order. Instruct this Bazarian that the Americans are to be let alone for the time being. Now, however, I have a change in plans for you, Marshal Zhukov. Very simply, I wish our armies to move westward across the Elbe, crush the Americans, and put an end to their presence in Europe.”

Zhukov could not hide his astonishment at the blunt and unexpected order. “Comrade Stalin, I am honored. When shall this assault commence?”

Stalin leaned forward grimly. “Immediately.”

Zhukov was further taken aback. “Comrade Stalin, our armies have been fighting heavily and are exhausted. Our supply lines are stretched, and we still have the remaining German armies to destroy. Please let us finish the Germans and then prepare for a proper assault against the Americans. A week for the Germans and another two or three weeks in preparation-”

“Immediately,” snapped Stalin. “Ignore the Germans. They are finished. When we have bagged Hitler, the remaining German armies will disappear into the mist. Your advance units will be reaching the Elbe within hours, if they have not done so already, and major units will be in place in a couple of days. I will give you forty-eight hours from that time to regroup and resupply. You will then cross the Elbe and attack the Americans.”

Zhukov paled, but he knew better than to argue. His armies were exhausted, had suffered heavy casualties, were short of ammunition, and their tanks and trucks desperately needed maintenance. Food was not a serious problem. They could simply take from the Germans, and nobody would care if they starved as a result. However, a T34 could not move without diesel nor could it shoot without ammunition. Still, he would carry out his orders.

Stalin stood and paced the room. “I understand your concerns, comrade, but the disarray of our forces will be more than matched by the confusion and panic within the American and British armies. The capitalists are weak. They will crumble under your onslaught.”

“Yes, Comrade Stalin.”

“Excellent. Now for the command arrangements. My day as overall commander is done. General Zhukov, you will assume control of the entire western front.”

Zhukov blinked in surprise and Stalin continued. “You are doubtless wondering why the sense of urgency. I know you have heard the rumors that the Allies will send their armies home or to Japan once the war against the Hitlerites is over, and, if true, the rest of Germany could be ours for the taking anytime we wished. Is this not correct?” Zhukov nodded like a student listening to a particularly stern lecturer.

Stalin folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “I can only say that there are forces and events emerging that could change everything. The opportunity for success is now. If we wait, the opportunity will surely be lost.”

After Zhukov left, Stalin was alone in his office. He pulled the one-page intelligence summary from the center drawer of his desk and read it for the tenth time. Events at a place called Alamogordo in New Mexico were at a critical stage, but success was more than probable. Indeed, it was highly likely. Stalin chuckled slightly when he recalled how he had told Zhukov of “forces emerging.” If only his generals had any idea of what was emerging from that base in New Mexico.

All in all, Major General Christopher Miller was not displeased by what he saw when he toured the defensive perimeter in his jeep. Getting out and checking things was a lot better than staying in the old German imperial barracks and staring at maps. It was also good for the men to see that at least one general had survived the ambush. His aide, Captain Roy Leland, hadn’t been thrilled, as there had been sporadic sniper fire from either the Russians or die-hard Nazis in the area, but he had been overruled.

“Not bad,” Miller said, “not bad at all.”

The soldiers within the perimeter had been reorganized where necessary and now had coherent chains of command. They had spent their time digging furiously in anticipation of further assaults, and the perimeter now bristled with bunkers and trenches. Miller could wish for more barbed wire and a greater number of tank traps, but they would come in time. If, he thought ruefully, the fucking Commies gave him some time. They had been quiet for a while but that was no guarantee the solitude would continue.

An area near the river had been cleared and an almost continuous stream of C-47s flew overhead and parachuted supplies in low-level drops. It had taken a couple of tries, but they had stopped dropping their loads in the river. Again, the Reds had made no effort to stop the resupply efforts. It was puzzling. It was as if they didn’t care.

Miller voiced his thoughts to his aide. “Roy, why the hell are the Russians so quiet? I mean, they jumped us, chewed the shit out of us, and now are leaving us alone? It doesn’t make sense.”

Leland, who was the soul of discretion and very used to being a sounding board for Miller’s thoughts, shrugged. “In the grand scheme of things, sir, I just don’t think we are all that important to them anymore.”

Miller nodded. “That’s what I feel, too. Battling us served a purpose and now that purpose is over. We can’t advance and we can’t retreat. All we can do is sit here and wait for them to do something. In the meantime, we just grow old.”

“Well, sir, we will be prepared for them this time.”

“Yep,” Miller said without qualifying the response. He knew that he was vastly outnumbered by the Russians. If they should decide to turn against him in all their fury, his newly built defenses would be overrun in little time. He understood that he and his men were pawns in a larger game being played out in Moscow and Washington. It was a frustrating and helpless feeling.

“General Miller?”

They wheeled at the sound of the new and accented voice. With both men deep in their thoughts, a German civilian had managed to walk right up to them. Or limp up, as the man was on a crutch and had only one leg. The jeep’s driver reached for his carbine and Leland pulled his pistol. The civilian balanced himself on his crutch and held out his hands.