by Ralph Peters
“Igor Fedorovitch,” Malinsky began, weighting the paternal tone in his voice, “you are… perhaps the finest fighting commander I have. I frankly admired you in Afghanistan. You know that. It was a bad war for all of us, not really a war — a trial we were never permitted to win. But you did so well with what you had, under the worst possible conditions… we always counted on you in the desperate moments. And I am counting on you now. We’re all counting on you. Of all the formations in the First Western Front, it is most critical that your corps and its brigades be responsive and exactly on time. You must always be there first.” Malinsky sucked on his cigarette, blowing the smoke back out with a faint sigh. “We all have flaws, Igor Fedorovitch. And I’ll be frank. Your flaw is that you see everything in bold, broad terms. This may also be your virtue. But a commander must take the time for the details. If the artillery arrives but the ammunition doesn’t show up, the artillery is useless. Precision saves lives, Igor Fedorovitch. It is perhaps the most important aspect of discipline for an officer. The soldier of the Soviet Motherland will give you everything he has. I will not see his life wasted because a commander was too busy to attend to administrative details.”
“I understand, Comrade Front Commander. I won’t forget.”
Malinsky allowed a short silence to drain the tension.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes then, Igor Fedorovitch. At the final review.”
Anseev understood this form of dismissal. He rose sharply and presented his respects.
Malinsky nodded.
With Anseev gone, Malinsky lit a final cigarette, attempting to gather his thoughts. He wanted to keep the review short so that his commanders could get back to their formations, but he also wanted to insure that every last-minute question had been answered. There would be no time once the great machine had been set in motion. He tried to enumerate his last-minute concerns, but his mind strayed determinedly to his son, as if Anseev had cursed him. He suddenly felt as though, if he were a religious man, he would pray for the boy.
But pray to whom? To Russia? It was, Malinsky considered, the closest thing he could imagine to a god. Something so much greater than its children. Its stubborn, passionate, dreaming children, who always seemed to seek the most difficult solutions to life’s problems. The idea of Russia remained hopelessly mystical, verging on melodrama. Intellectually, he could pick it apart, yet it was emotionally irresistible to him.
Spare my boy. And I will do everything for you.
And Paulina. How they had wanted more children. But those children had never come, and Paulina had endured the dreadful lieutenant’s quarters on the edge of the world, with communal kitchens and the filthy shared latrines. And the separations, the lack of fine things that only those much closer to the Party, or those whose sense of duty was to themselves, would ever have. Paulina, his soldier’s wife. His countess. Paulina, he thought, if I could choose, if I had to choose, I would send you back your son.
Malinsky felt ashamed of himself. He knew he hadn’t a moment to squander on nostalgia and personal matters. He needed to concern himself with the movement of tens of thousands of war machines, of hundreds of thousands of men. There was no time for emotionalism.
The intercom phone rang. It was the chief of staff and first deputy commander, the newly promoted Lieutenant General Pavel Pavlovitch Chibisov. The chief was a self-contained, coldly brilliant man with an analytical bent and almost obsessive self-discipline whom Malinsky had rescued from another ineradicable aspect of the Russian character — anti-Semitism. Chibisov was an ethnic Jew whose family had long ago renounced their religion, but he still felt compelled to struggle relentlessly against every last vestige of his Jewishness. And Chibisov was correct — his Jewishness never would be fully laid to rest in the eyes of many of his fellow officers. Malinsky felt a close personal bond to Chibisov, a deep, if quiet, affection. They were both outsiders, in their very different ways. In any case, Chibisov was the perfect chief of staff, a born mathematician and organizer, leaving his commander free to concentrate more of his own energies on the military art. Chibisov was the first of his fellow officers whom Malinsky had ever trusted to the extent that he allowed himself to depend fully on another, and he smiled to think of Chibisov the man, a lifelong bachelor who could express everything except emotion with utter clarity.
“Comrade Front Commander, they’re all here except the chief of the political directorate — he’s still occupied at the KGB site,” the familiar clipped voice reported.
“All right. Have they had their tea?”
“They’re settled in. We’re ready. At your convenience.”
“Good. I’m on my way.”
Malinsky laid the phone to rest, then crushed out his stub of a cigarette.
But he did not move at once. He stared hard at the map one last time. The deep red arrows of his plan cut through the carefully detailed hopes of his enemies. He had waited for this all his life. But he had never quite believed the day would come.
Major General Dudorov, Malinsky’s chief of intelligence, described the enemy dispositions in remarkable detail. Dudorov was clever and a good student of the enemy, but best of all, to Malinsky, he had worked the enemy problem so long that he had acquired not only many Western tastes but even something of a Western outlook. To Malinsky, it was the next best thing to having an intelligence chief right from the enemy’s ranks. Malinsky had a great hunger to know his opponents, to fully digest their strengths and weaknesses. He recognized that, in order to apply the precepts of Soviet military science and art to fullest effect, detailed and accurate intelligence was indispensable.
The briefing room stank with the swampy smell of wet uniforms, and the audience shifted restlessly. For many of the officers present, Dudorov’s portion of the briefing had gone on far too long. Dudorov was short and overweight, and he spoke like a condescending professor — exactly the sort of figure combat commanders tended to despise. And Malinsky knew that his subordinate commanders were anxious to return to their formations in order to put last-minute corrections into effect. But he took no action to shorten Dudorov’s remarks. He placed great confidence in Dudorov’s professionalism, and, as with Chibisov, he had carried Dudorov along with him as he rose to positions of ever-greater authority.
Malinsky wanted his subordinates to know their enemies, whether they felt interested or not. It was a common thing for tank and motorized rifle commanders — especially those who had not served in Afghanistan — to swagger about, assuming that the enemy was merely something to be used for target practice. But Malinsky believed their level of interest would rise sharply after a taste of the battlefield.
“And so,” Dudorov began his summary, “we face a partially prepared defense. Engineer preparations have been most extensive opposite the Third Shock Army in the British sector, where a unilateral decision apparently was made to execute their obstacle plan early on. The Germans, on the other hand, appear to have been reluctant to dig up their countryside, but all-out preparations are now underway. The Dutch and Belgian efforts at engineer preparations only began within the past twenty-four hours. Overall, we face a much more favorable situation than the one facing our comrades in the Second Western and Southwestern fronts opposite NATO’s Central Army Group. Of course, the limited aims of the Northern Front make it a secondary consideration. All of the materiel aspects of force reduction have clearly favored us. Even in the British sector, our most recent calculations do not indicate that the known preparations will significantly degrade our highly favorable operational correlation of forces and means.”
“Any sign of Americans supporting NORTHAG?” Malinsky asked.
Dudorov pointed at the map. From his seat, Malinsky really couldn’t see the details, but he had the map memorized. “The single U.S. brigade garrisoned in the north,” Dudorov stated, “has apparently been withdrawn into a deep reserve role. Their exact location is presently unknown. There are no indications at present of additional U.S. ground forces opposite th
e First Western Front.”
Timing is everything, Malinsky thought. He was not overly fond of the General Staff, but he had to admit that their calculations on how quickly NATO would detect and, more importantly, muster the decisiveness to respond to a Warsaw Pact mobilization had been almost exactly correct. Discounting the period of discreet measures, it had taken seven days of overt activities to adequately prepare the key Soviet, East German, Czech, and Polish units and formations and to position them forward in a manner that decisively shifted the correlation of forces and means. Of the seven days of all-out measures executed by the Warsaw Pact, the first four had been almost completely free. NATO’s intelligence evidently detected, evaluated, and reported the situation within twenty-four hours, but individual member governments of NATO had vacillated for several days. At his meeting with the commander-in-chief of the Western Theater of Strategic Military Action earlier in the day, Malinsky had been astonished by Marshal Kribov’s stories of frantic diplomatic efforts that seemed absurd beyond belief. Kribov was not known for his sense of humor, but he had smiled as he remarked to Malinsky that, while he believed they could beat NATO’s armies, he was absolutely convinced they could beat NATO’s governments.
“Other questions?” Dudorov asked the assembly.
Lieutenant General Starukhin, the commander of the Third Shock Army, stood up. Malinsky smiled to himself. Starukhin always stood up, always had something to say. Starukhin was a bully, a heavy drinker despite the change in fashion, and a brutally tough and aggressive commander. Exactly the sort of man to command in the breakthrough sector. Malinsky had known Starukhin for years, and he well knew the man’s long list of bad habits. But he also knew he could trust him to fight.
“Dudorov,” Starukhin began, posing for his circle of paladins, “you stand there and tell me that the British engineer preparations don’t make a significant difference. Maybe you’d like to ride in my lead tank.”
Malinsky watched to see who laughed along with Starukhin. The army commander’s subordinates, of course, and the commander of the Twentieth Guards Army and his companions. The East German officers laughed tentatively, while the Poles appeared disinterested. Trimenko, the commander of the Second Guards Tank Army, remained stone-faced, as did his clique. Trimenko and Starukhin were long-standing rivals, as different as summer and winter. It was a rivalry that Malinsky carefully exploited to draw the best efforts from each man.
None of the members of the front staff laughed at Dudorov. Malinsky and Chibisov took great pains to build a tight, loyal staff where backbiting was not tolerated.
Malinsky waited for the laughter and secondary comments to die down. Starukhin still stood posing, with a stupid grin on his face.
“If you’re so worried, Vladimir Ivanovitch,” Malinsky said coolly, “perhaps you’d like my chief of intelligence to command your army for you.”
Now Trimenko’s boys and the front staff smiled as a collective. But in the end, Malinsky did not want to further any contentiousness between his staff and his commanders. He only wanted to insure that everyone knew who was in control.
“My chief of engineers assures me that he will get you across the initial canal line and through the British obstacles,” Malinsky told Starukhin. “I certainly don’t underestimate the difficulty of the Third Shock Army’s mission. No one does, Vladimir Ivanovitch. But I am certain you will accomplish it.” Malinsky turned to the chief of staff. “General Chibisov, review the army missions.”
The chief of staff exchanged places with Dudorov at the map. The bunker’s ventilation system performed sluggishly in wet weather, and tobacco smoke filled the room with dirty wisps at the level of a standing man’s shoulders. Chibisov was asthmatic, and Malinsky knew he survived such briefings on sheer strength of will. The chief of staff was the only officer in whose presence Malinsky limited his smoking. But in such a forum, such niceties were impossible, a mark of weakness, and Chibisov was on his own.
“The First Western Front attacks at 0600 Moscow time to seize an initial objective line here” — Chibisov traced a line on the map that ran just west of the Weser River, allowing for operational bridgeheads — “and a subsequent objective line that includes bridgeheads on the Rhine north and south of the Ruhr metropolitan complex. Follow-on missions or additional objectives will be designated by the High Command of Forces, Western Theater of Strategic Military Action, as the situation develops.”
Malinsky watched Chibisov survey the crowded room, making highspeed calculations and judgments. The issue remained open as to whether the offensive would continue into the low countries and France. Although the plans already existed, even Malinsky did not know if the final political decision had been made to implement them. The chief of staff continued in a clear, controlled voice, dominating in its self-assurance.
“The Front conducts its attack with three reinforced armies in the first operational echelon.
“In the north, the Second Guards Tank Army, reinforced to a strength of five divisions, attacks in the Uelzen — Verden — Arnhem operational direction, with the immediate missions of crossing the Elbe-Seiten Canal in multidivisional strength on the first day of operations, locating and exploiting the boundary between the Netherlands Corps and the German Corps, and rapidly penetrating the Netherlands operational grouping in depth.” As Chibisov reviewed the Second Guards Tank Army’s mission, the formation’s commander, Colonel General Trimenko, wore a mask of hard determination, but his fingernails fought anxiously with the shell of one of the pistachios that were his only public vice. “The line of Autobahn E4/A7 is to be reached by multiple forward detachments not later than local midnight on the first day of operations,” Chibisov continued. “Not later than midnight on the second day of operations, initial bridgeheads will be established on the Weser line. The Second Guards Tank Army has two secondary missions. Its initial exploitation of the corps boundary is to be followed by a southerly turning movement into the tactical, then into the operational rear of the German Corps. The army also conducts a supporting attack, from the initiation of hostilities, against the frontage of the German Corps, with the objective of fixing the Germans as far forward as possible, facilitating their subsequent envelopment and encirclement. Upon the commitment of the army’s second echelon, those first-echelon units not occupied in guaranteeing the flank of the breakthrough against German counterattacks and not involved in the closing of the ring behind the Germans will contain residual Dutch elements northwest of a line drawn here, from the north of Bremen to Buxtehude.”
Chibisov paused for breath, disguising the break as an opportunity for the audience to ask questions. But all of this had been covered before, in much greater detail, and Trimenko and those supporting him knew the plan thoroughly.
“In the south,” Chibisov continued, saving the central breakthrough operation for last, “the Twentieth Guards Army attacks in the Duderstadt — Paderborn — Dortmund operational direction, with the mission of developing a rapid penetration in the Belgian sector, thereby creating an early crisis in the vicinity of the enemy’s army group boundary. In this instance, as in the example of the Second Guards Tank Army in the north, it is our expectation that early penetrations on its flanks will force the enemy’s Northern Army Group — NORTHAG — to commit its available reserves early and in a piecemeal fashion as it attempts to stabilize both of its flanks. Finally, upon receipt of the appropriate order, the Twentieth Guards Army is prepared to execute a turning movement to unhinge the British defense just to the north, should that prove necessary.”
Chibisov breathed deeply, poisoning his lungs. “In the center, ultimately making the front’s main attack, the Third Shock Army, reinforced with one East German division to a strength of five divisions, attacks in the Hannover — Osnabrueck — Venlo operational direction. Initially, the Third Shock Army’s offensive is phased slightly behind those of the flanking armies, allowing NORTH AG to identify the threat to its flanks and commit its reserves, thus robbing the center of any dept
h. The initial structure of radio electronic combat operations will allow the enemy to maintain the necessary communications to identify the threat to his flanks and to initiate movement of his reserves. To that end, we will initially attack the enemy’s air-ground and fire-support communications, but as soon as we have confirmation of the movement of the enemy’s reserves to commitment, we will redirect the full weight of our radio electronic combat effort against NORTHAG’s command and control and intelligence links.”
As Chibisov spoke Malinsky watched Starukhin, the Third Shock Army’s commander. Starukhin was always restless, looking for a fight or for a superior’s attention. Now he sat fitfully, obviously swollen with energy and nerves, rubbing at his stubbly chin and blotched nose. Malinsky knew it was only a matter of time until Starukhin opened his mouth again. Malinsky could not help feeling a personal distaste toward Starukhin, even as he valued the man’s unrivaled ability to smash his way through problems.
Starukhin managed to rein himself in a bit longer, and Chibisov continued smoothly, a perfect staff officer, choosing each word exactly without losing the rhythm of his speech. “In support of the front’s plan, the Third Shock Army initially structures its attack to give the appearance that all four of its organic divisions have been committed, while actually holding the bulk of the Seventh and Tenth Tank divisions and all of the attached East German division as a ready second echelon. The commitment of this second echelon is not contingent upon the commitment to battle of the enemy’s reserves, only upon the confirmed movement of those reserves to the north and/or south, or upon the personal authorization of the front commander.
“Third Shock Army has the primary mission of seizing multiple bridgeheads on the Weser River not later than 0600 on the third day of the war, and of thus facilitating the immediate commitment of the Forty-ninth Unified Army Corps to breakout and exploitation operations from the Weser line. The corps functions as the front’s initial operational maneuver group.