Beria concluded.
“In any case, we are sure to find something of note during these visits and liaisons, as well as through our own direct efforts. As you point out correctly, it is just a matter of time Comrade General Secretary and we must give Makarenko his three days.”
“Very well comrades, we must move on. But first tea”
The normal procedure of phone and orderly followed.
When the three of them were alone again Stalin puffed deeply on his pipe and spoke.
“Comrades, have the order for Operation Sumerechny [Twilight] sent out today for implementation immediately. I want the bastards out of the way or in the ground as soon as possible.”
Although neither of the other men was surprised, they exchanged glances.
Sumerechny was the codename for phase thirteen, the mass movement of German POW’s and general execution of officer prisoners.
Beria spoke first.
“We have made a further assessment Comrade General Secretary. Using the rolling stock that is bringing our forces to their rallying points to remove the prisoners, we can have most of the problem resolved before Kingdom initiates. Combined with those numbers for whom we intend different disposal, I anticipate the whole eastern area will be cleared, one way or another, by Day+8, provided there are no increased calls on NKVD or GRU troops in the interim. We have designated certain German prisoner groups as worker groups who will perform the labouring tasks required before they too join their comrades.”
“Comrade Marshall Beria and I have already agreed that we can transfer additional assets from our units in the Ukraine and elsewhere if necessary, allowing for the fact that that would slow down the resettlement programmes there.”
Looking at Beria for support, Pekunin continued.
“We have not actioned this yet but it is in line with your edict on priorities.”
It was only a few seconds silence as Stalin thought it through, but it seemed longer to the GRU officer.
“The Ukrainian monkeys can wait a while longer. Transfer the assets if it becomes necessary, ensuring sufficient left in place for security. I don’t want those damn Slavs starting anything that could damage our western operations.”
It was as easy as that. A decision that was to move uncountable numbers of men hundreds of miles and condemn thousands of others to instant death.
The orders flowed around Europe and by midday on the 28th, large contingents of German prisoners were moving eastwards. Driven on foot by their guards, most were glad to be leaving their accommodation but all shared the trepidation that accompanied a clear move to the east and away from their homelands.
Other groups of Soviet security troops were tasked very differently and the killing started.
Military officer figures, Captain had been selected as the lowest rank to be liquidated, were herded away from the large groups on some pretext.
The plan was simple.
Move the German prisoners away from the logistical routes so they could not cause problems. Use the returning transport to expedite the move swiftly. Kill as many German officers as possible.
Katyn had been cited in Stalin’s office and it was a fair comparison.
From camps the length and breadth of Soviet occupied Europe, columns of men were on the move whilst assassination squads worked feverishly before moving on to the next assignment.
As was bound to happen, some camps realised what was happening and there were outbreaks of rebellion. In such cases, five in total, everyone was killed out of hand. In those five camps alone Seven thousand prisoners were efficiently murdered. Flamethrowers were employed to burn the bodies in their huts after the surviving prisoners had stacked their comrades and been shot in turn.
One incident outside of Ostrava saw a column of nine hundred and fifty prisoners denied use of the bridge over the Opava River.
Men who had been run into the ground for hours previously were forced into the water in a bid to reach the other bank. Comrade struggled to help comrade; those who could swim attempted to assist those who could not through ability or injury. They drowned in their hundreds.
Less than two hundred men formed on the other side and of them, only one hundred and twenty-six made it to the railway line, the rest falling dead or dying on route.
About two thousand men crowded into a modest steamer were lost in the Baltic when it ran into a floating German mine off Danzig.
Trains crammed with prisoners flowed eastwards in the daytime and back again at night, filled with very different cargoes.
Some trains hauled only bodies to special sites where they were swiftly interred and all traces removed.
It was murder on a huge scale.
Chapter 25 – THE BOY
Some have been thought brave because they were afraid to run away.
He was the product of his country’s military machine, twenty-two years of age, finely honed, schooled in war and all its intricacies and yet, both fortunately and humiliatingly, he had seen no combat. Short and thin, he was unassuming to the eye but had abilities which were apparent to all those who taught him during his formative years.
Selected for the officer training as much because of his connections as for his obvious talents, Junior Lieutenant Vladimir Stelmakh had eventually been given command of a brand new development in Soviet armour, namely the Iosef Stalin III. A beast of a tank, some of his peers and one of his class mates had ridden them into action in a small skirmish south of Berlin, and quickly immolated two tired old Panzer IV’s and a battery of 105mm Flak guns without a shot being fired back at them.
Yet more of his friends had been dispatched across the country to serve in the upcoming Manchurian Operation but he, both to his chagrin and relief, still languished in barracks outside the German capital.
Son of a distinguished Red Army General, a man of impeccable political roots as well as of the highest military credentials, Vladimir had done all the things a good up and coming member of the party should do. Meetings attended, works carried out with the Young Communists, forever earning the praise of those who now watched over his progression.
His father had met his death at the hands of the Luftwaffe on the South-Western Front near Kalach in late 1942, leading his troops from the front in one of the many desperate counter-attacks of those fraught times.
The full nurturing of Vladimir’s career meant he was not thrown into the final days and was extended the honour of serving with the 6th Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment, 12th Guards Tank Corps, equipped with the revolutionary IS-III, ready to engage the heavier German tanks on even terms with a vehicle of excellent armour defence and hitting power.
Whilst it was an honour to be selected, it was a double-edged sword because to the son of a holder of numerous of his nations highest awards, Vladimir would obviously need to claim some glory of his own if he was not to fall forever under the shadow of his predecessors. Even his grandfather had, in the Czar’s time, won fame and accolades in the Great War, although the final and highest accolade had admittedly also been accompanied by untimely death.
The prospect of serving in the crushing of Japan’s Manchurian army had been similarly raised his hopes, which crushed in turn, and he remained behind as classmates and comrades took their tanks off to fight in the final battles of the war in the east.
It was difficult for him to indulge so wholeheartedly in the European victory celebrations with his comrades when all that sat on his chest were his political awards, not one earned for risking his life in combat or leading his troops in swift victories.