Stalin

by Ian Grey

  Toward the end of March, rivalry erupted among the Allies over the capture of Berlin. At Yalta, the three leaders had agreed on their policies on the division of Germany but had not discussed the coordination of the strategy of the Red Army and the Anglo-American forces. Eisenhower and Montgomery had agreed some months earlier that their chief political and military aim should be the capture of Berlin. On May 27, Montgomery reported to Churchill that he was advancing toward the Elbe with the capture of Berlin as his objective, and Churchill was entirely in agreement with this purpose. On May 28, however, Eisenhower, without reference to the combined chiefs of staff or to Air Marshal Tedder sent a message through General Deane to Stalin. In it, he stated that his strategy was now to cut through the German defenses and to make contact with the Red Army, after which the Anglo-American armies would concentrate along an axis from west to southeast in the direction of Dresden.

  Stalin informed Deane that he agreed with Eisenhower that Berlin no longer had the same strategic importance as before and the proposed Anglo-American plan would harmonize well with Soviet operations. The Red Army would advance toward Dresden to join with the Allied forces. He stated further that the Soviet offensive would open in mid-May, but the timing might have to be altered.

  Churchill raised a storm over the changed Allied strategy, complaining bitterly that it was wrong and it had not been discussed. Eisenhower recorded that Churchill “was greatly disappointed and disturbed because my plan did not first throw Montgomery forward with all the strength I could give him from the American forces in the desperate attempt to capture Berlin before the Russians could do so. He sent his views to Washington.”

  Like Churchill, Stalin attached enormous political significance to the capture of Berlin. But he and all the Russians had a burning sense of their right to conquer the German capital. They had suffered far more than the Allies in the war and had borne the brunt of the fighting. It would have been for them an unbearable anticlimax if the Germans had surrendered the city to the British and Americans.

  Stalin was particularly worried that the Germans might come to terms with the Allies and then concentrate their remaining forces on his eastern front. Immediately after giving Deane his reply to Eisenhower’s message, he summoned Zhukov to Moscow from the First Belorussian Front. Zhukov arrived the following day and went directly to the Kremlin. In answer to Stalin’s question, he said that he and Konev would be able to launch their offensive on Berlin in two weeks. He was not sure, however, that Rokossovsky could prepare so quickly since his front was still engaged in liquidating the enemy in the Danzig and Gdynia region.

  “Well, then,” said Stalin, “we shall have to begin the operation without waiting for Rokossovsky. Even if he’s a few days late, that’s no trouble.”

  Stalin then showed him a report that German agents had approached the Allies with proposals for a separate peace. The possibility could not be ruled out, he said, that the Germans might let the Allies into Berlin. “I believe Roosevelt will not violate the Yalta agreement, but as for Churchill, he can do anything,” he added.

  Before dawn on April 16, Zhukov’s and Konev’s fronts opened the offensive. Relentlessly they pressed forward, and the German forces, defending Berlin frantically, could not hold them. By April 23, Russian troops had broken into the city. Savage fighting continued in streets and buildings. The climax of the battle came on April 30, the day on which Hitler committed suicide when the Russians stormed the Reichstag. On May 2, all resistance in the city ceased. Six days later, Field-Marshal Wilhelm Keitel, representing the German High Command, surrendered to Marshal Zhukov. Czechoslovakia had still not been completely liberated, but on May 9, Prague finally fell. This day was proclaimed Victory Day.

  On the evening of May 9, Stalin broadcast to the nation. He expressed the pride, elation, and relief which all Russians felt. Like them, he had fought the war not as a communist or the leader of the proletarian vanguard; he had put ideology aside and fought as a nationalist and a patriot, defending Holy Russia. He paid tribute to the Red Army, and also to the Allied forces, but he was addressing his own people: “The great sacrifices we made in the name of the freedom and independence of our Motherland, the incalculable privations and sufferings experienced by our people in the course of the war, the intense work in the rear and at the front, placed on the altar of the Motherland, have not been in vain, and have been crowned by complete victory over the enemy. The age-long struggle of the Slav peoples for their existence and their independence has ended in victory over the German invaders and German tyranny. . . . I congratulate you on victory, my dear men and women compatriots!”

  At a grand reception in the Kremlin in honor of Red Army commanders on May 24, Stalin spoke again. Giving rein to his love of Russia and its people, he paid a fervent tribute to the Great Russian nation, “because it is the most outstanding nation of all the nations of the Soviet Union . . . not only because it is the leading people but also because it possesses a clear mind, a staunch character and patience.” He then made the frank admission that the Soviet government had made many mistakes; it amounted to an admission of his own mistakes. But even during the desperate months of 1941 and 1942, when the Red Army was in full retreat, the Russian people had not told its government to go, and had not thought of making peace with Germany, but had shown its confidence in the government and its readiness to make sacrifices until victory had been won. “Thanks to it, the Russian people, for this confidence!”

  The climax of the celebrations came on June 24 when the great Victory Parade took place in the Red Square. It was a day of torrential rain, but this did not diminish the grandeur of the occasion. Rokossovsky commanded the parade, and Zhukov took the salute. Standing on the Lenin Mausoleum, Stalin appeared as a small remote figure, but as hundreds of German regimental banners were flung down on the steps of the mausoleum and at his feet, he dominated the scene.

  It was in a real sense his victory. It could not have been won without his industrialization campaign and especially the intensive development of industry beyond the Volga. Collectivization had contributed to the victory by enabling the government to stockpile food and raw materials and to prevent paralysis in industry and famine in the towns. But also collectivization, with its machine-tractor stations, had given the peasants their first training in the use of tractors and other machines. Collectivized farming had been “the peasants’ preparatory school for mechanized warfare.” The raising of the general standard of education had also contributed by providing a vast reserve of educated men who could readily be trained.

  It was his victory, too, because he had directed and controlled every branch of Russian operations throughout the war. The range and burden of his responsibilities were extraordinary, but day-by-day without a break for the four years of the war, he had exercised direct command of the Russian forces and control over supplies, war industries, and government policy, including foreign policy.

  As he himself acknowledged, he had made mistakes and miscalculations, some with tragic consequences and heavy casualties. The first and perhaps the greatest of his mistakes was his political misjudgment of German plans to invade Russia. He had obdurately refused to believe that Hitler would launch his invasion in June 1941, and seeking to buy time by placating him, he had taken none of the obvious defense measures.

  Stalin has been held solely responsible for the terrible Russian losses of 1941 and 1942 and criticized for not following the traditional Russian strategy of retreating into the vastness of the Russian plain. This had been the strategy followed by Peter the Great in the Northern War and by Mikhail Barclay de Tolly and M. I. Kutuzov against Napoleon. They had drawn the enemy deeper and deeper into Russia, extending his lines of communication, weakening him, and committing him to a winter campaign.

  Defenses organized in depth, however, would hardly have halted the surge of the highly mechanized Wehrmacht in 1941. It had effortlessly crushed the Polish Army, which some British military experts in 1939 had rated above th
e Red Army in efficiency and morale. It had conquered France and expelled the British from the continent. Acutely aware of the inadequacies of the Russian defenses and the weakness of the Red Army in 1941, Stalin knew they could not withstand a German attack. He gambled for time so that his urgent mechanization and training programs could build up the Red Army’s strength. He lost the gamble.

  Stalin knew the military history of his country and well understood the strategy of falling back and using its great spaces. By temperament, however, he was positive and aggressive, eager to attack rather than defend, and this was characteristic of his conduct of Russian strategy throughout the war. He was at the same time capable of tremendous self-control, as he demonstrated in waiting for the Germans to attack in the battle for Kursk, and in general during 1943–45, he was constantly on guard against premature and ill-prepared offensives.

  A chief reason why during 1941–42 he was constantly demanding offensive action, although it often involved terrible casualties, was that in these disastrous months when Russia seemed near to collapse, he subordinated military considerations to the need to uphold the pride and fighting spirit of the nation. He was unsure of the morale of the Red Army and of the Russian people. Attempts to direct and control an orderly withdrawal of forces and the evacuation of the civilian population would have led, he feared, to panic-stricken flight, as had happened to the tsarist army in 1916-17. The bolshoi drap, or great panic, which had swept through Moscow in October 1941 as the Germans approached, was the kind of failure in morale which might have spread throughout Russia, leading to complete collapse. Facing Napoleon, Kutuzov had calmly ordered the evacuation of Moscow and had abandoned the city to the French, knowing that the whole nation was loyal to the tsar and would obey orders. Stalin did not have this certainty. In the event, the Germans had plunged deep into southern Russia, overextending their supply lines and committing themselves to winter warfare, for which they were not equipped. But at every stage, he had fought to halt them, as he had halted them before Moscow. He had demanded attack and had inspired his commanders with his own spirit of aggression and will to victory. It was, indeed, his implacable will which more than any other factor held the nation from collapse in the tragic days of 1941–42.

  Stalin has also been held guilty of bringing upon Russia the disasters of 1941–42 by his purge of the Red Army. Although tragic and wasteful, the purge probably had little effect, and certainly less than is often stated. Although many senior army commanders were purged, it was in this category that the Red Army was generally superior to the Germans, even in the years 1941-42. German superiority was marked among junior officers and NCOs.

  From the first months of the war, Stalin had gathered around him able senior officers, rejuvenating the High Command. He chose them on merit, and since he was an astute judge of men, he was constantly raising junior officers to high rank. By the time of the battle of Moscow, he had selected his key commanders in Zhukov, Vasilevsky, Rokossovsky, Konev, and Voronov. To them were added by the time of the Battle of Stalingrad, Vatutin, Eremenko, Malinovsky, Meretskov, Cherniakhovsky, and others.

  Stalin was unchallenged as supreme commander. His most able generals, like Zhukov, Rokossovsky, Konev, and others, who were outstanding among the generals of all countries involved in the war, accepted his authority unquestioningly. In fact, he dominated them not by virtue of office but by force of character and intellect. He inspired deepest respect and also affection. At times, he exploded in anger, demanding immediate action; at other times, he spoke gently, encouraging and inspiring confidence.

  With his disciplined mind and tenacious memory, he developed considerable military expertise and technical knowledge. Western officers and engineers present at discussions with him were impressed by his quick and accurate understanding. Alan Brooke, chief of the British general staff, remarked on several occasions of his mastery of military matters. His own commanders considered their reports carefully before submitting them, for he would unfailingly put his finger on any weakness or loose thinking in their presentation. In the early months of the war when, fearful of a general collapse, his overriding concern was to keep the nation fighting, he paid little heed to the views of his generals. As the war continued, however, he treated them with greater respect. Moreover, as Zhukov stated, he was always prepared to reverse his own opinions when presented with sound reasons. But he made the final decisions.

  Although immersed in the day-by-day crises of the war, he constantly looked ahead; he believed he was fighting and building for the future. An essential element in that future was the creation and maintenance of a powerful army, navy, and air force, which would guard Russia against another devastating war. This demanded discipline and leadership, and even in the darkest period of the war, he did not lose sight of the need to create an officer corps, imbued with patriotism and professional pride, and providing responsible leadership. Earlier in 1942, he had taken several steps, such as the institution of special decorations for officers, which were designed to raise their status and authority. After the great victories of Stalingrad and Kursk, when there was an upsurge of Russian patriotism, he had revived other tsarist practices. Epaulets, once the hated symbol of the officer class, were reintroduced, and the uniforms of officers became more splendid. Nine Suvorov schools were set up, modeled directly on the tsarist cadet schools, to train an officer elite. The curriculum required a high standard of general education and included tuition in good manners and even dancing. Officers graduating from these academies were to be highly trained and dedicated professional soldiers and also gentlemen, as the graduates from West Point and Sandhurst were expected to be.

  A revealing insight into Stalin’s attitude came in the course of a dinner, given by Churchill in Potsdam in July 1945. Stalin was sitting next to Birse, whom he now knew well and for whom he had a real affection. Birse remarked that “he seemed glad to be able to talk between the speeches to someone who understood him without the aid of an interpreter. He said he liked these English dinners; they were simple and at the same time dignified. Then, looking round the faces opposite, he singled out General Marshall and remarked: ‘That’s a man I admire. He is a good general. We have good generals in the Soviet army, but so have you and the Americans. Only ours still lack breeding and their manners are bad. Our people have a long way to go.’”

  Shrewd, observant, and honest, he knew the qualities he wanted in his officers. They included modesty, humility, and discipline, which, speaking soon after Lenin’s death, he had impressed on the cadets of the Kremlin Military Academy. But he wanted also manners and breeding. It was noteworthy that among those who worked closely with him during the war, a disproportionate number, including Shaposhnikov, Vatutin, Vasilevsky, Antonov, and Rokossovsky, had had training in the tsarist army and presumably possessed something of this quality of good manners which he valued. In his own conduct, according to foreign and other observers, he displayed great modesty, simplicity, and courtesy, until angered or confronted with what he regarded as deceit or a threat to his authority, and then he could become abusive and coarse.

  And finally, it was Stalin’s victory, above all, because it had been won by his genius and labors, heroic in scale. The Russian people had looked to him for leadership, and he had not failed them. His speeches of July 3 and November 6, 1941, which had steeled them for the trials of war, and his presence in Moscow during the great battle for the city, had demonstrated his will to victory. He was for them a semi-mystical figure, enthroned in the Kremlin, who inspired them and gave them positive direction. He had the capacity of attending to detail and keeping in mind the broad picture, and while remembering the past and immersed in the present, he was constantly looking ahead to the future.

  Military experts, however, have criticized his direct control over and participation in military matters and have condemned many of his decisions, especially in 1941–42. But one foreign expert, not notably sympathetic to Stalin as a man, has perhaps given the fairest judgment: “If h
e is to bear the blame for the first two years of war, he must be allowed the credit for the amazing successes of 1944, the annus mirabilis, when whole German army groups were virtually obliterated with lightning blows in Belorussia, Galicia, Romania, and the Baltic, in battles fought not in the wintry steppes, but in midsummer in Central Europe. Some of these victories must be reckoned among the most outstanding in the world’s military history.”

  The leaders of the three Allied powers - Stalin and Churchill were joined now by Harry Truman, the new president of the United States - met in Potsdam in July 1945. They came to resolve the problems of postwar Europe and to establish through the United Nations a new era of peace and stability in the world. But the spirit of cooperation and common purpose, which had been remarkable at Teheran and Yalta, died in Potsdam. The attitude of the United States and Britain toward Soviet Russia had changed. The symbol of the change was the terrible new weapon of the atom bomb in the armory of the West. To Stalin, the Potsdam conference was a time of betrayal.

  The three nations had celebrated the surrender of Germany with feelings of triumph, achievement, and relief. But their elation was overcast by the magnitude of the postwar problems and above all by the needs of their own countries. The United States had emerged from the war relatively unscathed and with an awareness of its great economic and military power. Britain, facing the ruin of its economy and a disintegrating empire, was but a shadow of the great imperial nation it had once been. And Soviet Russia had suffered most terribly.