It turned into a working lunch for the dedicated team of GRU officers, working on divining Allied intentions.
Munching on bread and pickles, the GRU General whispered to her aide, less informally than normal as they were not alone.
“So what are we missing here, Comrade PodPolkovnik?”
“Something totally conclusive… something unequivocal, Comrade General. Something else…”
He shrugged and bit deeply into a baked potato.
Turning to the chalkboard, she read the notations aloud, growing in volume, drawing everybody’s attention back to the work in hand.
“Enemy transport vessels confirmed in Norwegian ports, probably in Northern English ports too.”
“This Second Allied Army Group is very active, not just new units either, and all suggestions lead to some sort of reinforcement move to Holland.”
Poboshkin waved his half-eaten potato at the entry.
“Our forces have already reacted to that, reinforcing Bagramyan’s Front.”
She nodded.
One of the Major’s added his comment.
“But we only have names of units, Comrade General. There is nothing on composition, and we know the Allies pulled a similar maskirovka to confuse the Germans in ’44. We cannot guarantee this SAAG is what it seems.”
Nazarbayeva encouraged free speaking within this group, so her best minds always seemed to have something to say. With no standing on ceremony or fear of punishment, outspoken opinion was the healthy norm.
“So, Norway. The transports were laden. What are they carrying? Not a fictitious army surely?”
Poboshkin narrowed his eyes.
“Actually, Comrade General, we have not seen the original photos. The report is a written report from Naval Intelligence and the photos are copies. Perhaps we should get the originals?”
“Yes, we should. Comrade Kapitan?”
The young Lieutenant rose immediately and left the room to order the originals sent to the Mühlberg.
The discussion continued.
“These language specialists… Latvian… Lithuanian… Estonian…”
“And we’ve the reports of Norwegian officers being integrated into all enemy units in Norway, Comrade General.”
“Also, Comrade General,” Guvarin, the bald and scarred Kapitan, quickly searched for a report, locating it easily, “Radio intercepts on units in Northern England report Norwegian in use by some stations.”
Silence.
“Why would they do that?”
Nazarbayeva aimed the question at no-one in particular.
“Testing their systems, Comrade General? They were in code, but the accents were unmistakeable.”
She nodded at Guvarin’s suggestion.
“To mislead us?”
Poboshkin pursed his lips and continued.
“Using the language… well, they know we monitor their radio network… and the messages, whilst in some sort of code, were identifiable as Norwegian. It stinks, Comrade General.”
Pinkerova, the young Lieutenant, returned clutching a new report, but she decided not to interrupt the debate in progress.
Nazarbayeva stood in front of the board, tapping the Norwegian photo recon entry.
“How many other flights have been successful, Comrade Major?”
She turned to Poboshkin, encouraging him into a quick response.
“This is the only set of up to date photos that we’ve received from Naval command, that I know for sure. Comrade Mayor Ergotin?”
Ilya Ergotin checked the file that recorded photographic intelligence and quoted directly.
“Comrades, we have received three other sets of photographs from successful aerial reconnaissance missions on the north-west coast of Norway… Narvik and Harstad on 30th November, Tromso on 3rd December, and Hammerfest and Alta on 13th December.”
That stunned everyone into disbelieving silence, broken by a softly spoken Nazarbayeva.
“So, no photos since 13th December, and now we are presented with some taken on 12th March? Three months?”
She approached Ergotin’s position.
“Tell me, Comrade, how many missions did Navy fly between December 13th and March 12th?”
“I do not have that information, Comrade General, but I’ll get it immediately.
He was gone before the echo of his words had subsided.
Poboshkin noticed the waiting Pinkerova and beckoned her forward, extending a hand to receive the report she was so desperate to share. He encouraged her to speak.
“Comrade Polkovnik, the originals will be sent to us as soon as possible. I have asked them to include the pilot’s report on the mission as well. I quickly jotted down some pertinent remarks from it.”
Poboshkin scanned the short list and offered it to his commander.
It took only a moment for her to reach a conclusion.
“Clear skies with no cloud over enemy territory or the target… attempted enemy interception, by Spitfires, failed due to poor pilot skills… enemy anti-aircraft fire ineffective… no damage sustained…”
She gripped the paper tightly.
“Good work, Comrade Pinkerova. Comrades,” she called the room’s occupants to focus on her, “I want a reason, any reason, real reason, a fact, not a suggestion or assumption, but a reason to believe that the intended point of the Allied attack is the northern border of Norway and the Kola.”
No-one said anything.
“Anything at all… give me one single fact that supports the notion, Comrades?”
“The photos of Harstad, Comrade General?”
Captain Guvarin became the focus of attention.
“And what do they show exactly, Comrade?”
“Laden vessels at anchor in the harbour, Comrade General.”
She nodded vigorously, looking around the room.
“One thing, Comrades, just one thing, and even that may not be what we think, eh? Now look at what we worry about.”
She counted them off on her fingers.
“Norwegian spoken on radios they know we listen to.”
“No photo recon for three months and then we get some perfect shots.”
“Enemy aircraft and AA totally ineffective, so much so that our…”
The door burst open, admitting a red-faced Ergotin.
She stopped talking immediately.
He passed her a report and stood back.
Poboshkin couldn’t help himself.
“Well?”
“Nine, Comrade PodPolkovnik.”
“Nine?”
“Yes, Comrade PodPolkovnik, and all unsuccessful.”
“And the pilot’s reports. What do they have to say, Comrade Kapitan. Cloud, engine trouble, what?”
Nazarbayeva passed Poboshkin the report and focussed on Ergotin’s reply.
“There are no pilot’s reports, Comrade Polkovnik. All aircraft failed to return.”
As bombshells went, it was huge.
Nazarbayeva sat against the edge of the desk and eased the tension in her neck with a quick probe of her fingers.
“Who now feels that a Norwegian-Kola operation is probable?”
After a few seconds silence, Poboshkin ventured an opinion.
“Maskirovka, Comrade General. Has to be.”
She and most in the room nodded in agreement.
“Maskirovka indeed. However,” she turned to Ergotin, “I want your section to maintain focus on Norway operations and come to me with anything, anything at all, that might make us rethink this opinion, Comrade Kapitan Ergotin.”
“Now, the Baltic, Comrades.”
The analysis went on late into the night and the group did not seek rest until three in the morning, leaving Nazarbayeva sat with Poboshkin, gazing at the board for some moment of inspiration.
“So, after all that, we have reasons to believe that any of the Baltic States could be the target. We can discount Finland. There is nothing to suggest Poland as a possibility, not even a possible maskirovka, which, in itself we find worrying. We cannot even state for sure that the SAAG exists and that the threat to Bagramyan’s forces is real.”