summoned.
“Immediately.”
Understanding that his normal procedure was not suitable for the moment, the CoS opened the door and gave a clipped order to one of his Majors.
Beckoning to three other officers, he turned back into the office.
“Done, Comrade Marshal.”
Zhukov heard but chose not to answer, his mind full of the necessaries of overcoming the supply issue.
“I want an immediate message to all senior commanders, requiring a full inventory of supplies, discrepancies against normal levels, consumption rates, replacement rates, and losses due to enemy action.”
One of the officers, a young and very keen colonel was given the nod.
“I want the production and transportation reports from our Theatre Supply command”.
Zhukov looked down at his list and saw the error, quickly scratching through one thing and scribbling something else.
“I have relieved the Theatre Supply Officer and he’s on his way here to account for this fuck up.”
Malinin made his own note.
“His deputy’s in charge for now. Ferovan and Atalin will go to the Headquarters and report back to me just exactly what piggery has been taking place here. Organise the usual travel and authorisation documents for my signature.”
Malinin cued a second officer who left with his urgent task.
“I want the latest GRU and NKVD transportation reports today. I want the latest GRU and NKVD reports on partisan attacks today. I want the latest GRU, NKVD, and Air Force reports on the effectiveness of the enemy air attacks on our logistical chain, here, today.”
Uncharacteristically, Zhukov stabbed a finger at his CoS and friend.
“Get them here and get them analyzed, today.”
The final officer, an overawed Captain, disappeared, trying hard to work out how he was to start the process his Marshal had ordered.
Zhukov fell back into his chair, his fury subsiding now that he had taken positive steps to discover what had happened.
He realised he had taken it out on his man.
Indicating the other chair, he encouraged Malinin to sit down.
“I’ m sorry, Mikhail.”
Malinin accepted the unexpected olive branch with good grace, understanding the new pressures on Zhukov.
Zhukov passed him the list he had been working on.
The CoS cast an eye over it, seeing the names of walking dead men upon it, some of whom were very good men indeed.
“Keep that safe until things are clear, Comrade.”
Malinin nodded, happy that his commander was not acting so precipitously as to execute some seriously competent officers for guilt by association.
“Before today is done, I want to know the full position so that I can go to the GKO and offer up the correct heads, as well as correct our plans to cover any problems.”
A knock on the door brought a calmer response from Zhukov, his face almost smiling as the tea was placed on the side table, the young orderly retreating at speed.
Malinin poured.
Holding their hot cups, both senior men pondered the problem in silence.
Taking a cultured sip from his vessel, Zhukov shook his head, expressi ng silent horror at the thought suddenly filling his mind.
“Mikhail, I want to know if we have been deliberately misled by our NKVD colleagues.”
Malinin nodded his understanding of the delicacy of that order.
“Contact Alpine, Southern, and Balkan Fronts. Get me some shells moving in from them immediately.”
That went into the notebook.
“Some figures on internal stocks such as Iran units, or anything that can be obtained from our Eastern forces, or our Socialist brother Tito, although the time to transport them here may be a problem.”
As did that.
“Most importantly, I need to know if we are sitting on a disaster here!”
That possibility had been only too apparent from the moment that the reports of a lack of 122mm ammunition made themselves so spectacularly known within 3rd Red Banner Front, and subsequent enquiries revealed a similar problem in its infancy within 1st Baltic.
“I intend to fly to Moscow
“Immediately.”
Understanding that his normal procedure was not suitable for the moment, the CoS opened the door and gave a clipped order to one of his Majors.
Beckoning to three other officers, he turned back into the office.
“Done, Comrade Marshal.”
Zhukov heard but chose not to answer, his mind full of the necessaries of overcoming the supply issue.
“I want an immediate message to all senior commanders, requiring a full inventory of supplies, discrepancies against normal levels, consumption rates, replacement rates, and losses due to enemy action.”
One of the officers, a young and very keen colonel was given the nod.
“I want the production and transportation reports from our Theatre Supply command”.
Zhukov looked down at his list and saw the error, quickly scratching through one thing and scribbling something else.
“I have relieved the Theatre Supply Officer and he’s on his way here to account for this fuck up.”
Malinin made his own note.
“His deputy’s in charge for now. Ferovan and Atalin will go to the Headquarters and report back to me just exactly what piggery has been taking place here. Organise the usual travel and authorisation documents for my signature.”
Malinin cued a second officer who left with his urgent task.
“I want the latest GRU and NKVD transportation reports today. I want the latest GRU and NKVD reports on partisan attacks today. I want the latest GRU, NKVD, and Air Force reports on the effectiveness of the enemy air attacks on our logistical chain, here, today.”
Uncharacteristically, Zhukov stabbed a finger at his CoS and friend.
“Get them here and get them analyzed, today.”
The final officer, an overawed Captain, disappeared, trying hard to work out how he was to start the process his Marshal had ordered.
Zhukov fell back into his chair, his fury subsiding now that he had taken positive steps to discover what had happened.
He realised he had taken it out on his man.
Indicating the other chair, he encouraged Malinin to sit down.
“I’ m sorry, Mikhail.”
Malinin accepted the unexpected olive branch with good grace, understanding the new pressures on Zhukov.
Zhukov passed him the list he had been working on.
The CoS cast an eye over it, seeing the names of walking dead men upon it, some of whom were very good men indeed.
“Keep that safe until things are clear, Comrade.”
Malinin nodded, happy that his commander was not acting so precipitously as to execute some seriously competent officers for guilt by association.
“Before today is done, I want to know the full position so that I can go to the GKO and offer up the correct heads, as well as correct our plans to cover any problems.”
A knock on the door brought a calmer response from Zhukov, his face almost smiling as the tea was placed on the side table, the young orderly retreating at speed.
Malinin poured.
Holding their hot cups, both senior men pondered the problem in silence.
Taking a cultured sip from his vessel, Zhukov shook his head, expressi ng silent horror at the thought suddenly filling his mind.
“Mikhail, I want to know if we have been deliberately misled by our NKVD colleagues.”
Malinin nodded his understanding of the delicacy of that order.
“Contact Alpine, Southern, and Balkan Fronts. Get me some shells moving in from them immediately.”
That went into the notebook.
“Some figures on internal stocks such as Iran units, or anything that can be obtained from our Eastern forces, or our Socialist brother Tito, although the time to transport them here may be a problem.”
As did that.
“Most importantly, I need to know if we are sitting on a disaster here!”
That possibility had been only too apparent from the moment that the reports of a lack of 122mm ammunition made themselves so spectacularly known within 3rd Red Banner Front, and subsequent enquiries revealed a similar problem in its infancy within 1st Baltic.
“I intend to fly to Moscow
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