Free Stalemate (The Red Gambit Series) by Colin Gee

Marshal?”
    Replacing his cup in the matching saucer , the bald-headed commander of the Red Army responded with a shrug, heavy with his belief in the possibility that all was not how it seemed.
    Seeing Malinin’s furrowed brow, Zhukov added the same codicil he had received from Beria.
    “Our Chekist comrades acknowledge a possibility of error up to 2% either way.”
    Malinin grunted as he br ought his own cup to eager lips, sipped, and summarised some more.
    “What are admitted in this document are considerable losses in the rear zone, some through air attack, some through partisan attack, and some through accident alone.”
    Malinin stood, wiping his wet lips with a handkerchief, moving to look at the map on the wall, not one of the intended advances into Western Europe, but one showing the heart of the USSR, and the lands westwards to Germany.
    “Losses and expenditure, once the manpower and supplies are in the forward frontal zones, are heavy, this we know. And we have reliable reports to confirm losses well in excess of what we allowed.”
    Neither man needed to remind the other that new allowances were being complied , so that supply and manpower levels could be maintained.
    ‘Provided...’
    “Comrade Marshal, these figures simply do not add up to me.”
    It was nice to hear that another senior man also felt the wool was being pulled over the Army’s eyes.
    Malinin continued, finger quickly tapping out an indistinct rhythm on the map, marking the major manufacturing zones of the USSR.
    “If the production figures are how they are stated, and traditionally , production figures are extremely reliable,” Zhukov conceded that with a brusque nod, “Then what is being produced enters the transport system in the Rodina and only part of it comes out at our end.”
    His finger made a single sound as it contacted with the geographic representation of Germany.
    “A part which, at first look, would seem to be about a quarter less than it should be.”
    The commander in chief took up the baton.
    “With losses and expenditures way over expectations, and supplies less than anticipated, we have a serious problem, which is exactly what I told the General Secretary yesterday.”
    Part of Malinin marvelled that Zhukov was still here, given Stalin’s propensity for head rolling.
    “And how did the General-Secretary decide to resolve the issues.”
    Zhukov smiled at his CoS, understanding that the statement was couched in such delicate terms, just in case there was a recording in progress.
    “The usual, as I have already said, plus he will be ordering some air assets from other areas, including the Far East, to increase our own ability to destroy Allied assets.”
    Both men knew that such an order would send many a mother’s son to his early death, so dangerous was any excursion behind enemy lines at the moment.
    “The Navy has been ordered to escalate its submarine attacks as much as possible, obviously making transports a priority to stifle supply.”
    “I’m sure the Navy will enjoy that.”
    The two shared a professional grin that was dev oid of real humour, in the knowledge that the upped tempo would result in ships being lost and more men would die.
    Pointing at the chair, indicating Malinin should resume his seat, Zhukov’s voice dropped to a barely audible level.
    “I cannot rely on what I am being told by Moscow , not at this time. I need to find out the truth.”
    A silent message passed between the two men, ending with both nodding as the senior man picked up the telephone.
    “Polkovnik General Pekunin please.”
    Zhukov had time to finish his drink before the voice of the GRU commander resonated in his ear.
    “Ah yes, and good day to you too, Comrade Polkovnik General. Yes, you may be of service, or rather, we both know someone who can.”
 
2307hrs, Saturday, 8th September 1945, One kilometre south-west of Pörnbach, Germany.
 
    The leader snorted quietly, soft enough to neither trouble any of the