Chapter 74 – THE APPROACH
“There is no worthy man who has not once dreamt of himself in the jaws of danger, in order to triumph in the face of insurmountable odds. We, each of us, envy the brave the opportunity fate casts before them to prove their worth; those so exposed envy us the safety of our dreams.”
“Your men are working well, Comrade Reynolds.”
Judas Patrick Reynolds, commander of the IRA’s Mayo Battalion, accepted the compliment, along with the glass of vodka, the second one the ship’s captain had plied him with since he came onboard to supervise his men.
“That they are, Captain Lipranski, that they are, to be sure.”
Perhaps it was the nature of the cargo that had inspired his men, or even the briefing he had given them, prior to the arrival of the darkened ship.
Whatever it was, the weapons and ammunition would soon be all landed, along with the additional Soviet personnel the ‘Swedish’ ship had brought.
Sinking the vodka in one, Reynolds moved to the other wing of the bridge, where he could look down on the starboard side. Efficient sailors were manhandling torpedoes from a cunningly concealed side hatch into the waiting shape of a partially surfaced submarine.
On shore, his second in command, Seamus Brown, was overseeing the concealment of the ammunition and weapons haul, or at least the part destined for use by the IRA units throughout the six counties, and beyond.
The munitions set aside for the Soviet Marines were organised and distributed by Senior Lieutenant Masharin, shortly to be replaced as the senior Soviet officer by a new arrival.
An experienced Starshina approached Masharin with a formal report, leading a party of forty businesslike soldiers, moving in an experienced silence born out of the experience of battle.
“Comrade Starshy Leytenant. My commander has been delayed on board. He asks that the men be directed to their quarters immediately, and then given opportunity to become aware of the position we defend.”
“Comrade Starshina, the matter is in hand.”
Masharin beckoned his own senior NCO forward, already briefed to lead the newcomers to their barracks.
The marines filed past, following the leader.
By 0512 hrs the supply ship had started to pull away, the second submarine having had its fill of the torpedo reloads.
The ‘Swedish’ vessel had refilled the ingenious fuel cell system, a set of large collapsible rubber bladders that were anchored to the seabed, their feeder hoses snaking up to the shoreline and concealed with prepared mock rough stone blocks.
Those submarines, there were now four of them, operating out of the Glenlara base, were well-provisioned for more strikes against the Allied supply routes.
Malinin and Zhukov were animated, the recent news from the front drawing them to the main operations room to consult maps.
As they took in the scenario, a further report from the Commander of 8th Guards Army arrived, confirming that a counter-attack had driven in the front of the 29th Guards Rifle Corps. The German forces had pushed them back nearly ten kilometres before the situation was retrieved, the employment of the nearby 12th Guards Tank Corps, and the profligate use of ammunition by supporting artillery, eventually halting the enemy counter-attack.
Malinin cherry-picked items from Boldin’s report, forwarded in its complete form from the 1st Red Banner Front Headquarters.
“Colonel General Boldin’s report… he believes that Major General Shemenkov… 29th Guards Rifle… can hold… despite heavy casualties… he needs more time to organise… reinforcements… before he can start to push the enemy back.”
“Hmm.”
Zhukov’s mind was working the problem.
There had been a few local counter-attacks over the weeks since the start of the offensive, and most withered with little or no gain. But this one was different, as the reports indicated that the enemy were pure German formations, part of the new Republican Army.
Combined with the appearance of German tanks and vehicles that had inflicted the Dagersheim debacle, for which the commanders of the tank units involved had paid the ultimate price, there seemed to be numerous Germans in the field.
GRU had sent over a special report that indicated the formation at Dagersheim was the French SS unit, and their performance unfortunately vindicated Zhukov’s assertion to Beria that they would fight with their old élan.
For the moment, that unit had gone quiet, so the two senior officers concentrated on the setback on the road to Amsberg.
Some waving of fingers and palm movements conveyed Zhukov’s orders, and his CoS noted them scrupulously, offering one small observation as an improvement, before moving off to get the plan in place, sending the commander of 1st Red Banner Central European Front specific instructions, as well as releasing some more assets to his control.
The Marshall took a seat at a modest desk and selected a biscuit from a plate set for his needs, a soft shortbread, sticky with raisins and honey.
A similar type had been laid out the previous day in Moscow, the only sweet taste in a sour encounter with the entire GKO.
The meeting had been planned as a full and comprehensive brief on the progress of Stage 2, and that section had gone as expected.
It was in the disputes with the dangerous Beria that the drama had developed, and the whole exchange reeked of threat and intrigue.
By the end of the meeting, Beria had created a climate of fear and distrust that obscured the initial purpose, and undermined the needs of the Motherland.
Zhukov’s presentation on the need for utilising the engineers amongst the ex-prisoners had fallen on ears already burnt by the fire of the arguments between the Army and GRU on one hand, and the NKVD security apparatus on the other.
The ears were not receptive, and he failed to get what he needed.
‘What the Rodina needed!’
He looked at the plate, making a selection.
‘Why didn’t they understand?’
Another biscuit sprang off the plate and into his mouth, the act of chewing bringing a moment of pleasure and relief.
Again he thought back to the tense meeting, and a moment when he had taken a back seat.
Fortunately, Colonel General Pekunin had taken onboard his late-night phone call, replacing Nazarbayeva, and presenting the GRU report, including the condemnation of the NKVD actions that Tatiana had listed the day before.
He had watched Beria carefully whilst Pekunin pursued the ‘Spanish’ matter, and he would tell the GRU Colonel that her intuition was correct, for the face of the NKVD chief had betrayed that all was not how it was painted.
Malinin returned and was directed to a seat by the pondering Zhukov.
“Shall I send for reinforcements, Comrade?”
Zhukov, broken from his thought process, responded brusquely.
“I think I have done all that is needed to ensure that the situation is rectified, General Malinin.”
He caught the amused look on his comrade’s face.
“Oh, the biscuits!”
Zhukov grinned in acceptance of his ‘gluttony’.
“Why not?”
The intended replenishment process was suspended when a Staff Major ushered Nazarbayeva into their presence, a few beads of sweat present on her forehead, indicative of her haste to get to the Army Commander.
None the less, still buoyed by Malinin’s comment, he decided to extend the good-humour.