Without a conscious thought, his glasses were in his hand, handkerchief polishing carefully, almost as prop to his spirit as he spoke further.
“Discussions have addressed a number of issues. Our right of march across an area of Northern Italy to permit access to Southern France, technological assistance and reparations, in gold, for any damage caused.”
He paused, breathed rapidly on both lenses and resumed his polishing.
“Repatriation of all Italian prisoners of war within two months of the declaration of neutrality.”
Replacing his glasses, he chose to look the GRU officer in the eye.
“Guarantees of military aid and trade agreements, sovereignty over certain areas of Africa so recently coveted, but lost. Sovereignty over areas of Southern France once enemy resistance is broken.”
Beria sneezed violently, sending three blobs of spittle in Nazarbayeva’s direction.
“We have also declared a weapons-free attack zone where any forces are liable to attack by our aircraft.”
He placed his hand theatrically upon Nazarbayeva’s map and turned it so it was facing Stalin. His eyes did not leave those of Nazarbayeva, his words directed at Stalin and Zhukov, but his negative emotion all for the GRU officer.
“The zone is defined by a line drawn across their country from Viareggio to Cervia.”
A swift examination of the map was sufficient to demonstrate that the rally point set by the Italian government fell on the safe side of that line.
Silence is a worrying thing, especially in a room full of powerful people. Zhukov broke into it, his mind already asset stripping from the formations that were due to crash into the Allied forces there.
“Then I can only agree with the GRU assessment here. It seems that Italy will be brilliantly neutralised by our Foreign Ministry.”
“Good work, then we can leave Italy and proceed onto other matters.”
Stalin drew a line under the ‘Italian’ assessment and lit a cigarette, noticing Nazarbayeva’s pained look.
“Your wound is hurting, Comrade PodPolkovnik?”
“I can bear it, thank you, Comrade General Secretary. If I may continue to the military balance?”
A gentle coughing prohibited the Generallisimo speaking, so he managed a wave of assent instead.
“Comrade Marshall Zhukov suggested that I refer to the NKVD assessment of enemy forces, which you have already seen and which mirrors the GRU assessment in all important areas. Unless there is anything specific you require, Comrade General Secretary, GRU can add nothing to that but….”
She meant nothing by the words, save their face value, but Beria perceived deeper meaning and interrupted with unconcealed sarcasm.
“Thank you for your endorsement, Comrade Nazarbayeva. It is nice to know the NKVD can get something right to GRU’s satisfaction.”
“Again my apologies, Comrade Marshall, I meant no criticism.”
Zhukov kept his smile to himself but he could not help but admire this woman who did not seem to waver. None the less, he decided to rescue her.
“You said but.”
“Yes, Comrade Marshall Zhukov. The NKVD assessment of Allied forces is correct, but omits a new German force that is presently being formed in France.”
When Zhukov and Nazarbayeva had arrived at the Kremlin, an officer had been waiting to hand over an urgent report to the GRU Lieutenant-Colonel, and she had scant seconds to pass on some of her new knowledge to the Red Banner Forces Commander; but not enough for him to give his two superiors any hint in his own brief.
Beria took advantage of the opportunity he had apparently been offered, leant across and selected a large round biscuit from the silver platter, quickly taking a bite and spraying crumbs in all directions.
“I assume you speak of the German Naval personnel presently forming at the French Ports? My sources inform me that even the Allies do not know how to use these assets yet. These are mentioned in our report.”
“No Comrade Marshall, I refer to other new German forces in France.”
Stalin sat gently puffing his pipe, as always enjoying the spectacle of his underlings in confrontation.
Beria stood but gained no height advantage over the woman. He gestured at the wall map.
“Comrade PodPolkovnik, we have reports of thirteen to fifteen German divisions assembling in France and Italy, most under the leadership of one-time General Guderian. We have more reports of German air regiments, possibly as many as fifteen, also in the making, and again mostly in France.”
He picked up the NKVD report and the GRU report and dropped both dramatically onto the table.
“We even agree on the naval personnel issue, do we not?”
Not waiting for an answer, he sat down again.
“What new force can the Germanski possibly conjure up now?”
Nazarbayeva coughed slightly as the first stages of a viral infection made themselves known.
“Comrade General Secretary, my apologies. I received an urgent report as I attended this building, so have only one copy. If I may read it to you?”
Stalin gestured his acceptance.
“This is from a GRU agent called Leopard, whom we have undercover in the Allied Forces. He is presently with the French First Army in Southern Germany. It was he who located the fourth symposium.”
The agent’s credentials established, she read on.
“He reports of a clandestine assembly and training area run by the French, centring on the village of Sassy, south-west of Paris.”
Zhukov, whilst aware of the punch line, took in every word of the journey to it.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Beria’s dismissive wave.
“Part of the build-up we have already identified obviously. Nothing to worry about. The name is included in our list of such assembly areas.”
Zhukov was puzzled by that. Beria was being very unBeria-like, committing himself without certain knowledge, apparently all because of the effect of the woman in front of him.
‘Strange.’
“Unfortunately not, Comrade Marshall. GRU had made the same assumption, but it appears we were both wrong.”
Stalin struck a match, punctuating the moment with an unspoken but very real full stop.
Puffing on his cigarette he leant forward, placing his elbows gently on the table, his look inviting her to continue.
“Comrade General Secretary. The Sassy facilities are run under the auspices of the French Foreign Legion. The Germans in question are to be formed into a corps of at least four divisions with support units for offensive combat operations.”
Even though he had heard it before, the hasty snatched exchange with Nazarbayeva in the lobby having given him a heads-up, the full revelation still hit Zhukov like an electric shock.
“Comrade General Secretary. They are forming divisions of their Foreign Legion from the SS.”
Beria realised that if his agency had missed this one then it was a bad error, so he wisely stayed silent.
It was left to Stalin to ask the necessary questions.
“Can this agent be trusted, Comrade Nazarbayeva? Really trusted?”
“Yes, I will stake my position on it, Comrade General Secretary.”
Beria half-smiled, in the knowledge that she was staking much more than that on it, had she the sense to realise her position.
“When will they be ready?”
“According to Leopard’s best guess, all units can move into action within a week minimum. He emphasises that is a guess, but an informed guess.”
After a moment’s pause Stalin extinguished his cigarette and leant back in his chair, his fingers stroking his moustache back into place.
“Comrade Marshall Zhukov?”
“Any division of German’s is something of note to us, Comrade General Secretary. I’m sure no-one forgets how these SS bastards fought, but four divisions will do little to the balance of power. More would be a problem for sure. None the less, we will have to heed their presence, and I will be surprised if the Allies use them just to sit around doing nothing.”