He checked his watch and did the maths. His briefing for the General Secretary scheduled for that evening.
‘Four hour time differential. A six and a half hour flight, briefing and then flight back.’
He would be absent from his command post for a number of hours but would be back before the central European day fully awakened.
Onboard with him were his travelling personal staff of four officers, plus a number of others from various branches of the Red Army, returning to Moscow for reasons ranging from attending Communist party meetings to sorting out the logistics of total war.
The combat soldiers amongst the passengers were easily discernible, as they quickly fell asleep, observing the soldier’s maxim of ‘get it while you can.’
Zhukov grinned.
‘Old soldiers never lose that ability’.
Within a few minutes, only four Political Officers, an NKVD Major, and the GRU Lieutenant-Colonel sat opposite him were still awake, the first five being involved in a theoretical political debate that reminded Zhukov why he avoided such inane matters. The latter was deep in thought, studying a number of reports.
The Commander of the Red Banner Forces of Soviet Europe took time to observe the GRU officer more closely and before he drifted off into a deep sleep he had posed himself the question of how a GRU Lieutenant-Colonel had won the Hero of the Soviet Union award.
His prolonged snore interrupted the GRU officer’s line of thought.
Putting the folders back in a small pigskin briefcase, Nazarbayeva decided to get some sleep to help her prepare for her briefing with the General Secretary that evening.
Settling herself down, she eased the boot on her damaged foot a few centimetres for comfort, and was asleep in an instant.
Nazarbayeva woke to the sound of urgent muffled voices opposite, and her senses quickly cleared to take in what was happening.
An Air Force Lieutenant was in the process of explaining the reasons behind a diversion to a different airfield to an unhappy Marshall Zhukov. The small military strip at Ostafievo was now their destination.
Enquiring of the harassed man as he returned to the cockpit, Nazarbayeva established that Vnukovo was closed indefinitely due to a ground incident.
“Govno!”
A chuckle came from the seat opposite, Marshall Zhukov amused that such a beauty was capable of combat soldiers language. But then, he mused, he should not be surprised at all, as the woman had obviously once been a combat soldier herself.
“As you say, Comrade PodPolkovnik, as you say.”
“Apologies, Comrade Marshall, but my transport will be waiting at Vnukovo and I have an important briefing to give in Moscow.”
Zhukov was not normally disposed to acts of charity but something about the female Officer interested him, and it was not her extremely obvious beauty and charms.
“I too am going to Moscow, and there will be vehicles waiting for me at Ostafievo. Perhaps you would like to accompany me and give me the GRU’s impressions of our campaign to date?”
“Thank you, Sir. I’m sure I can assist the Comrade Marshall”
Something about her simple reply puzzled Zhukov. She seemed undaunted by his seniority, a rare attribute in the Red Army.
“Excellent. I am called to the Kremlin for 8pm”, taking an automatic look at his watch, “For a meeting with the General-Secretary, so we should have time to drop you wherever you need, Comrade?”
“My appointment lies in the same place. I am ordered to brief the General-Secretary and Marshall Beria. As is normally the case for me, I have no time allotted, so I suspect I will simply follow you, Comrade Marshall.”
Zhukov nodded, his respect for the woman increased as no fools ever crossed that threshold more than once, and his understanding of her calm acceptance of his offer of a lift was complete.
‘If she can stand before those two, then she certainly won’t be worried about sharing a car with her Commander-in-Chief.’
“Excellent Comrade, PodPolkovnik. Now, before we land perhaps you might give me your name and tell me how you came by that pretty trinklet?”
Zhukov pointed a finger at her Gold Star.
“Yes Comrade Marshall. I am PodPolkovnik Tatiana Nazarbayeva of Polkovnik General Pekunin’s personal staff, and I got this on the Kerch.”
Zhukov felt strangely, and for him, worryingly at ease with the female officer as she spoke modestly of her combat operations.
So much so that their conversation shifted smoothly into the GRU assessment of the present combat operations and the first he knew that they were on the ground was the hard bump of a poor landing from a fatigued pilot.
Zhukov and his staff swept off the aircraft, speeding towards two ex-Wehrmacht Horsch 108 staff cars, sat idling on the apron.
Nazarbayeva assembled her files and briefcase, and then moved swiftly after the hurrying group, her limp becoming more noticeable as her pace increased.
Despite the promises he made to himself as he hurried from the aircraft, something made Zhukov turn and beckon the GRU officer into his car, turning her from the second vehicle to which she had been heading.
The conversation struck up again, the woman’s analysis excellent, her observations reasonable and well thought out.
Only when the Horsch halted at the gates of the Kremlin did the exchange of views and information cease.
Dismounting from the vehicle, Zhukov wished her well and formally took his leave, receiving an immaculate salute from Nazarbayeva.
Striding up the stairs, his staff keeping pace behind him, he wondered if he would ever see the woman again, not knowing that his life and hers were, from that moment, inextricably linked.
Zhukov had given his presentation to the GKO, and received assurances as to replacement weapons, materiel and personnel across the board. The failure to adhere to the assault timetable had been explained and, unusually, accepted without histrionics and threats. The normal vitriol was directed against those who were behind the lines, and whose failures contributed to the engineering and equipment shortages, plus those who were failing to ensure safety in the logistical tail.
That meant that the bald Marshall had the rare pleasure of seeing Beria hounded by the General Secretary for the failure of his NKVD security force to protect rail lines and bridges. Such pleasures were best sampled without showing satisfaction, as the wounded Beria was a beast to fear.
The meeting was closed and the GKO dissolved, some to instigate the decisions of the meeting, others to their homes and beds, leaving solely Stalin and Beria with Zhukov.
Beria, still smarting from the admonishments he had recently received, sat silently and obviously deep in thought.
The General Secretary hid his amusement and ordered more tea.
“Comrade Marshall, the GRU will be giving us a briefing shortly. It will be of interest to you I have no doubt.”
“Yes Comrade General Secretary, I travelled here with the GRU officer in question. I gave her a lift to the Kremlin as our plane was diverted and she had no vehicle.”
“Ah, so you have met our Nazarbayeva. Your thoughts?”
Zhukov didn’t need to think.
“A remarkable woman for sure, Comrade General Secretary.”
Stalin waved his pipe stem at the still silent Beria, a moment of rare humour surfacing.
“Marshall Beria seems to think so too.”
The eyes flicked up to look at Stalin and quickly went down again, but Zhukov saw enough to understand in their coldness that Nazarbayeva had an implacable enemy in the NKVD chief.
“Let us see what she brings to us this evening. Lavrentiy.”
The Generalissimo motioned his man to the phone and felt satisfaction that he was obviously still hurting.