“And we’ll continue to adhere to the plan,” Malinsky said firmly. “The tactical units and the formations can fight with what they have. The one thing that we cannot sacrifice, the one thing that is in critically short supply, is time. This is the hour when plans come into their own.” Malinsky sat erectly, but his voice became intimate and direct. “If I could spare you, Pavel Pavlovitch, I’d send you forward to take a look for yourself. It’s an astonishing thing. Despite all of the theory and the calculations, the endless tinkering with the tables and norms, I don’t think any of us was quite ready for this. It’s all… so fast.” Malinsky slowly turned his head, a tank turret sweeping the field. “I couldn’t change the plan now, no matter how badly I might want to. Oh, we can adjust details. But there’s no time for, no possibility of, anything greater.” His eyes shone out of the darkness. “The speed of the thing, Pavel Pavlovitch. The speed and the power. It makes the Hitlerite blitzkrieg look like a peasant horse and cart.” The front commander paused for a sip of tea, but Chibisov knew from the intensity in Malinsky’s face that the old man didn’t really taste it.
“I don’t know,” Malinsky went on. “We looked at it all in such detail… perhaps in too much detail. We examined the questions of mechanization and the impact of new weapons and technologies on the dialectic. We surveyed road networks and studied means of communication. We delved into automated support to decision-making and struggled with the issues raised by radio electronic combat. But somehow, we haven’t done a very good job of putting them all together. What would you and your mathematician comrades say, Pavel Pavlovitch? That we haven’t written the unifying algorithm? But perhaps it was unwritable. At least the enemy doesn’t appear to have done any better than we have. In fact, they appear to have done considerably worse.” Malinsky leaned forward, suddenly, lifting a hand, then a lone finger, as if to admonish Chibisov. But the old man was addressing an absent audience now. “Have pity on the commander without a good plan. If we have done anything correctly, it was to plan and plan and plan. Frankly, excessive planning may not work in the industrial base. But there is no alternative on the battlefield. Perhaps the difference is between problems of sequential efforts and problems of simultaneity. But I have seen the results with my own eyes. Maintain the momentum now, the momentum of the plan. Don’t let up. If the enemy has a plan, don’t allow him time to begin its implementation. Make him react until his efforts grow so eccentric that he loses all unity in his conceptions. Ram your plan down his throat.”
Malinsky settled back into his chair, smiling with sudden gentleness. “But I’m lecturing. And to you, of all people, Pavel Pavlovitch. Tell me about your computers. How are we doing in the new dimension of warfare?” Malinsky asked, boyish mischief in his voice.
“Frankly,” Chibisov said, “there have been many disappointments. The computers in themselves are reliable enough, but the human factor is too slow. And the amount of data that must be transmitted strains even our best communications means. I believe, Comrade Front Commander, that I personally missed an important consideration. Along with allowances in the plan for such traditional measures as refueling, resupplying the units with ammunition, feeding soldiers, reorganizations, and the like, contemporary plans should also include the factor of programming and reprogramming. You recall how many officers, most of whom were simply afraid of the new technology, insisted that all of the comprehensive data accounts would be thrown out or would disappear on the first day of the war. To a limited extent, they were correct. The systems in our possession have proved to have only limited capabilities under the stress of combat, and some have failed. Yet those who denigrated automation and the volume of information to which we became accustomed were only correct in the most superficial and even tragic respects. While some of the systems and capabilities ‘went away,’ the requirements for the information itself are even greater than expected. We considered the symptoms, not the disease. Modern warfare is increasingly dependent upon massive amounts of highly accurate information, for targeting, for intelligence, for the rear services… even for the making of fundamental decisions. Those who cling to the past have made the mistake of believing that if you destroy the machinery, you destroy the need for the product. Certainly not an error a good Marxist-Leninist should make. On the other hand, too many of us fell in love with the machines themselves, confusing the relationship of means to ends. And no one from either camp fully realized the extent to which modern war would be waged on the basis of massive quantities of data.” Somber at the end of his assessment, Chibisov dropped his eyes away from Malinsky’s piercing gaze. “In the end, I’ve failed you, the army, and the Party. It all seems so clear, so obvious now, looking back.”
“All of your preparation is being rewarded, my friend,” Malinsky said. Chibisov winced at the unexpected choice of words. “All of the work you’ve done is in evidence out there.” Malinsky waved his hand at the map. “I know you’re having trouble with the computers. I’ve heard the same thing from everyone. But you’re honest about it, which is a terribly hard thing for a true believer. Just use the machines within their limits now. I suspect they’ve already done their jobs in the preparatory phases. Perhaps the next war will be theirs. We’re still in a transitional period. And now we’re leaving the realm of strict military science. Now it’s a matter of military art. And of strength of will.”
“Comrade Front Commander,” Chibisov began. There was an uneasy, stilted formality in his voice as he searched for the right tone. He had been caught totally off guard by the piercing word “friend.” “I understand that your last stop was at Starukhin’s forward command post. Shall I nonetheless review our perception of the Third Shock Army’s situation as we see it from here?”
Malinsky’s face tensed into a frown. “Starukhin! You know, he’s down there shouting at his staff at the top of his lungs. I don’t really understand how it works myself. One commander might shout and shout and only degrade the performance of his subordinates. Starukhin barks, and things happen. It’s an amazing phenomenon. I suspect such behavior was better suited to the temperaments of past generations. But it still works for Starukhin. But I’m worried. A crisis up in Trimenko’s sector could be locally contained. It is, in effect, built into the plan. But Starukhin has to come through. We must break through in the center. I’ve given him permission to commit his second-echelon divisions tonight. We’ll pile it on, if that’s what it takes. Clearly, subtlety doesn’t work very well with the British. They’re very stubborn boys.”
“I understand his crossing was a tough one.”
“One of his divisions lost an entire regiment in less than half an hour. All that remained were stray vehicles and empty-handed commanders. But he got across. And he turned the British from the south. He caught an entire British brigade from the rear, pinned them against their own minefields and barriers, and finished them. And Starukhin’s moving now. But the tempo isn’t all that’s wanted. I don’t sense a breakthrough situation. We have the British reeling back, but they’ve maintained a frustratingly good order. There’s always another defensive position over the next hill. If Starukhin doesn’t do better tonight and tomorrow morning, we may be forced to use the Forty-ninth Corps to create the breakthrough the plan calls for them to exploit. I don’t like it.”