Ralph Peters - Red Army

An officer dashed down the line of vehicles. He hastened past Shilko's command car, and Shilko thought nothing more of it until the officer suddenly reappeared, slapping at the side of the vehicle to get Shilko's attention.

Shilko leaned out of the vehicle, cigarette stuck in his mouth like a stalk of straw.

"Are you the commander of this artillery?" the officer shouted. He was an agitated, ferret-faced major with all the trimmings of the commandant's service.

"These are my boys, Major," Shilko stated matter-of-factly, waiting to see what the other officer wanted. He had already made up his mind that he was not going to clear off the road and lose his place in the column, if that was what all the fuss was about.

But the major had another objective entirely. "Comrade Commander," he said, almost crying out, "we've got to do something. The enemy are up ahead. The motorized rifle troops can't hold them."

"Up ahead? Where?" Shilko demanded, quickening, reaching for his map case.

The major produced a map of his own and traced over it with a hooded flashlight.

"Here. Here, I think. In this general area. Can you fire in support?"

Shilko scrutinized the map. "There, you say?"

The major nodded urgently. But, in fact, as Shilko could see now, the target area was not exactly up ahead, but several kilometers off to the south, along a road that intersected with the one on which they were standing.

"How do you know the enemy's there?" Shilko demanded.

"Comrade Commander, I've seen them with my own eyes. I went forward to straighten out the traffic. The motorized rifle regiment's trains were backing up from the south, blocking all movement to the west—an impossible situation. I'm responsible for the movement of traffic on this 174

route. I went to see what was happening. The motorized riflemen are hanging on by their fingernails. It must be an entire German division counterattacking."

Shilko rolled his fading cigarette in his mouth, pondering the map. It was clear to him that the local terrain would not support an enemy division in the attack. And, allowing for the commandant officer's natural exaggeration, this was probably more a matter of a reinforced battalion, perhaps leading a brigade-sized attack. But the enemy division would be spread out over multiple routes, if, indeed, there was an enemy division. In any case, there was a road running through a forested area.

Any attacker would be backed up down that road. The terrain was extremely restrictive. In greater depth, there were several small towns that would also restrict any movement.

Shilko didn't trust the major's precision when it came to the current locations of the enemy. But it was clear to Shilko that the enemy, in some size, was definitely out there somewhere. Shilko took a decision.

Moving with determination now, he climbed out of his vehicle and rousted Captain Romilinsky. He ordered the fire direction center prepared for hasty action. The batteries were to come to a high state of readiness and await their missions. Romilinsky snapped to the task.

Meanwhile, Shilko set to work on the hood of a vehicle, plotting fires by the light of a pocket lamp. He figured that, if he shot the long, straight stretch of road through the forest just south of where the major claimed the enemy were advancing, he would range safely beyond the forward Soviet positions, except for any that were cut off—and that couldn't be helped. The road would provide the likeliest concentration of enemy targets, and if he could strike everything behind the enemy's leading combat troops, those troops could be forced to a standstill. At the very least, if you jammed up the road, you slowed down the enemy counterattack. Shilko was rapidly becoming an expert on the criticality of roads in modern war—especially in the northern extreme of the Germanies. Now his instincts told him he had a good target.

Shilko's staff moved like a farmer's family, well-accustomed to fitting their chores together, making everything come out right. Shilko ordered the guns to elevate their barrels before pivoting into firing positions in order to avoid smashing one of the long tubes into the trees that lined the roadway. The heavy barrels elevated like elephant trunks, ready to snort fire upon command. Sleepy-eyed officers shook themselves awake and leaned over their survey equipment, doing their best in the darkness.

Shilko doubted that his boys had been paying very close attention to their maps during the march, since every man was weary and willing to simply follow the leader. Paternally, Shilko hinted to them where they were presently located.

Lieutenants and sergeants shouted instructions and waved tiny signal lamps as the big guns aligned themselves in the constricted space. The tracks bit into the surface of the road, and the vehicle engines growled as if in bad temper at being disturbed in the middle of the night. Each noise, each lurching movement, attested to the power of the guns, even before a single round went skyward. The guns reminded Shilko of great, barely manageable animals.

Captain Romilinsky approached. "The first battery is prepared to accept its fire mission, Comrade Commander."

Shilko nodded. He took Romilinsky by the arm, heading for the fire-direction track.

"Comrade Commander, shouldn't we at least call the division and inform them that we're firing a hasty mission?"

Shilko chuckled. For all of his marvelous staff skills, Romilinsky clearly did not understand how to make the system work when the situation was critical.

"You're thinking like a Prussian," Shilko said with a smile for the younger man. "Look around you. Personally, I haven't recognized a passing unit for hours. I don't know where division is located, and if I did, I wouldn't waste the time to attempt to get a mission cleared under these circumstances. You might as well try to get an apartment in Moscow on an hour's notice."

"But there could be complications."

Shilko liked Romilinsky. The captain was a terrifically serious young man, always painfully sincere and concerned. Shilko expected him to be an excellent battalion commander in his own right someday, if he didn't disappear entirely into the swift current of the General Staff officer program.

"Hesitation . . . the reluctance to take responsibility . . . is something of a Russian disease," Shilko said. "I have never suffered from it myself.

Perhaps that's why I'm an over-age lieutenant colonel. But it has always been my conviction that, when things go bad and good men are in demand, there will be enough of us who are willing to say, 'To hell with it,' and do what we believe is right. Tonight I intend to harvest the maximum benefit from all the years of fine training the Soviet Army has provided me. After all, the only things a good artilleryman needs are targets and a known location." Shilko released the younger man's arm, tapping it playfully away. "Did Lenin ask permission to make a revolu-RED ARMY

tion? In any case, I want you to run things here while I work my way forward and get those motorized rifle boys straightened out. Listen for me on the radio. And give them hell."

Major Kolovets was unsure of which decision to take. His reinforced tank battalion, tasked to operate as a forward detachment, had simply driven into the enemy's rear after a bit of inconclusive skirmishing. All of the sounds of combat were tens of kilometers behind them now. The situation seemed absurd to Kolovets, so much so that at first he thought it must be a trap. He led his tanks over a series of good secondary roads, unchallenged. Now and again, flickers of light showed through the trees or across open fields, but no one fired a shot. Kolovets ordered his men to hold their fire unless the enemy fired first. They had driven so far that Kolovets noticed a change in the countryside, which rose slightly and had a drier feel to it. Briefly, the column became disoriented in the darkness, and Kolovets feared that his career would be ruined. But his forward security element struck the autobahn's north-south course, and it appeared the unit was in a very good situation after all.