to a suitable safe distance, ready to observe an Arty/R Charlie strike on the SU-122’s of the 1814th.
The whole procedure went like clockwork, and the guns of the Indian Division brough t destruction down upon the Soviet SP’s, wrecking nearly a quarter of the unit and, most spectacularly, sending much of its separate ammunition reserve into the night sky.
The 4th Indian D ivision reformed its line a mile and a half closer to Unterankenreute, without the missing 2nd Gurkha’s ‘B’ Company, ready to start the killing and the dying all over again, once the morning sun was fresh upon the field of battle.
The Supply officer of the 1814th SP Artillery reported his unexpected difficulties to his commander. Refusing to accept the unbelievable statement, the Artillery Colonel made his own visit to the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of the Corps logistics.
Anger abated, transformed into concern, and then in turn was replaced by a resurgent anger. His situation was not helped when the second in command of the 7th Guards Horse Artillery Regiment rang through and secured all the replacement ammunition he needed over the phone.
Quite clearly, the harassed supply officer could not produce 122mm shells from his ass, as the stressed man had put it. However, the system had broken down for only the second time in the Colonel’s considerable army service.
At this time, there were no more shells to be had , and his unit was combat ineffective because of it.
Determining to resolve the issue at the highest level, he took his GAZ off to the Corps headquarters, finding himself in a growing queue of concerned unit commanders, all waiting to lay their issues before an incensed Corps commander.
By 0230hrs, the rising wave of complaints had made their way to the Headquarters of the Red Banner Forces, and the night duty officer placed the bundle of reports on the top of the list for the morning.
Marshal Zhukov awoke to a very different day.
There was never a night or a problem that could defeat sunrise or hope.
Bern Williams
Chapter 79 - THE INSIDER
0801hrs, Saturday, 8th September 1945. Headquarters, Red Banner Forces of Europe, Kohnstein, Nordhausen, Germany.
The staff officers made themselves small, as the torrent of abuse flew in all directions.
Self-preservation dictated that they should not be noticed, lest they become a target for the wrath of a man recently apprised of a huge problem.
Even Malinin, upon whom had fallen the task of briefing the commander of the Red Banner Forces, retired from the private office as swiftly as possible.
The voice behind the closed door grew in pitch and volume, the unfortunate recipient of the tirade of oaths and threats, the Deputy Supply Officer of the 3rd Red Banner Front, afforded little opportunity to explain the position.
The 3rd’s Chief Supply officer was apparently away in the Motherland on a mission of great importance in the spa resort of Yessentuki, an absence that had already condemned him in Zhukov’s eyes, and guaranteed his execution in the near future.
Rokossovsky had already had his phone call, and was passing on the pain, wreaking his own brand of hell on his subordinates, angered as much by the problem as the fact that he had been apprised of it by his Commander, not his own staff.
Senior heads were beginning to roll throughout Soviet occupied Europe, as the unheralded logistical problem burst from its hidden location into the bright lights of close examination.
The sound of the telephone being rammed into its cradle sounded like a gunshot.
“Mali nin!”
The normally cordial and professional relationship between the two men was very obviously on hold, the incensed Zhukov in no mood for niceties.
“Right now, I want Ferovan and Atalin here, right now.”
Malinin made his note, unsurprised that the two colonels had been
The whole procedure went like clockwork, and the guns of the Indian Division brough t destruction down upon the Soviet SP’s, wrecking nearly a quarter of the unit and, most spectacularly, sending much of its separate ammunition reserve into the night sky.
The 4th Indian D ivision reformed its line a mile and a half closer to Unterankenreute, without the missing 2nd Gurkha’s ‘B’ Company, ready to start the killing and the dying all over again, once the morning sun was fresh upon the field of battle.
The Supply officer of the 1814th SP Artillery reported his unexpected difficulties to his commander. Refusing to accept the unbelievable statement, the Artillery Colonel made his own visit to the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of the Corps logistics.
Anger abated, transformed into concern, and then in turn was replaced by a resurgent anger. His situation was not helped when the second in command of the 7th Guards Horse Artillery Regiment rang through and secured all the replacement ammunition he needed over the phone.
Quite clearly, the harassed supply officer could not produce 122mm shells from his ass, as the stressed man had put it. However, the system had broken down for only the second time in the Colonel’s considerable army service.
At this time, there were no more shells to be had , and his unit was combat ineffective because of it.
Determining to resolve the issue at the highest level, he took his GAZ off to the Corps headquarters, finding himself in a growing queue of concerned unit commanders, all waiting to lay their issues before an incensed Corps commander.
By 0230hrs, the rising wave of complaints had made their way to the Headquarters of the Red Banner Forces, and the night duty officer placed the bundle of reports on the top of the list for the morning.
Marshal Zhukov awoke to a very different day.
There was never a night or a problem that could defeat sunrise or hope.
Bern Williams
Chapter 79 - THE INSIDER
0801hrs, Saturday, 8th September 1945. Headquarters, Red Banner Forces of Europe, Kohnstein, Nordhausen, Germany.
The staff officers made themselves small, as the torrent of abuse flew in all directions.
Self-preservation dictated that they should not be noticed, lest they become a target for the wrath of a man recently apprised of a huge problem.
Even Malinin, upon whom had fallen the task of briefing the commander of the Red Banner Forces, retired from the private office as swiftly as possible.
The voice behind the closed door grew in pitch and volume, the unfortunate recipient of the tirade of oaths and threats, the Deputy Supply Officer of the 3rd Red Banner Front, afforded little opportunity to explain the position.
The 3rd’s Chief Supply officer was apparently away in the Motherland on a mission of great importance in the spa resort of Yessentuki, an absence that had already condemned him in Zhukov’s eyes, and guaranteed his execution in the near future.
Rokossovsky had already had his phone call, and was passing on the pain, wreaking his own brand of hell on his subordinates, angered as much by the problem as the fact that he had been apprised of it by his Commander, not his own staff.
Senior heads were beginning to roll throughout Soviet occupied Europe, as the unheralded logistical problem burst from its hidden location into the bright lights of close examination.
The sound of the telephone being rammed into its cradle sounded like a gunshot.
“Mali nin!”
The normally cordial and professional relationship between the two men was very obviously on hold, the incensed Zhukov in no mood for niceties.
“Right now, I want Ferovan and Atalin here, right now.”
Malinin made his note, unsurprised that the two colonels had been
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