Come into my Parlour by Dennis Wheatley

your feller’s right; but that’s what we’ve got to find out. The hell of a lot hangs on this, Gregory, and I’ll tell you why; but you must keep it under your hat.”
    Sir Pellinore stood up and thrusting his great hands into the pockets of his pinstripe trousers, began to walk up and down. “We know that the Russian first line units are pretty well equipped, but the show seems to be developing in the way this pen-pusher of yours forecast. Huge battles are raging now at many points between the Baltic and the Black Sea, but there is no longer a continuous line of battle, andhalf the people fighting know only from day to day which is their front and which is their rear. In that sort of warfare whole formations, even up to divisions and Army corps, are apt to find themselves encircled and cut off. That doesn’t matter if you’re on the winning side, because a few days later your pals come up and break the ring that the enemy has made round you; but if your High Command is giving ground you find yourself left behind and you’re in the bag for good, with everything you’ve got.”
    â€œYou mean that the Russians are not only losing men but a lot of their best equipment too?” Gregory interjected.
    â€œThat’s it! Remember what we used to hear about the Ruskies in the last war? People who were out there said that they were damn good fighters but so short of weapons that they had only one rifle to every three men; and that when the feller who had it became a casualty the next chap picked it up. Well, if they could do that now with their tanks and guns they might be all right for a long time to come. But owing to this hotch-potch that has resulted from mechanised warfare it can’t be done. Stalin says that his war-plant is adequate for normal replacements, but that his losses to date have been abnormal, and that if he’s to stick the pace he must have every tank, gun, lorry and radio set that we can send him. See? He’s calling on us to do a Lease-Lend to Russia.”
    Gregory raised an eyebrow. “So that’s the idea. Well, it seems a very sound proposition.”
    â€œOh, it fits in with your theory about encouraging the Russians to keep the main German Army occupied on the ground while we hammer hell out of Germany from the air. But if we rob all our new divisions of the weapons they should be receiving to send the stuff to the Bolshies, and they do collapse by the autumn, we’ll look a pretty lot of fools, won’t we?”
    â€œYou certainly would,” Gregory laughed. “What a problem! I certainly don’t envy the people whose responsibility it is to pass judgement on that one.”
    â€œYou’re right, my boy. To send or not to send this stuff to Russia is probably the most important decision we’ll be called on to make during the whole war. No good taking half measures. That’s a sure road to ruin, whatever happens. We’ve got to back the Bolshies for all we’re worth and take a chance on being left naked ourselves next spring, or play for safety now with the prospect of having to fight the Germans on our own again in a few months’ time. Now you see why the people who have to make that decision are so desperately anxious to know what the real chances are of the Russians being able to fight on through the winter if we hand over our weapons to them.”
    â€œIt’s taking on the hell of a lot, but I’ll do my best for you. There’s one serious snag, though, I can only speak about ten words of Russian.”
    â€œI thought of that. I want you to take that tame Bolshevik of yours with you to act as your interpreter, General Kupopoff, or something. Never could get the hang of these foreign names.”
    â€œYou mean Stefan Kuporovitch?”
    â€œThat’s it. How’s he hitting it off with that French gel he married? Pretty little baggage. Have they been enjoying themselves at Gwaine