Stalemate (The Red Gambit Series) (26 page)

The trawler was already down by the stern, and noticeably sinking deeper by the minute.

The boy was nearing the end of his journey, his injuries not obvious, his body broken on the inside. He had been thrown against the wheel, two handles driving hard into him, one catastrophically rupturing his liver, the other his spleen.

“Easy
now, boy, easy. We’ll get the doc to thee, and thou’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Boothroyd stroked the boy’s hair, his tears betraying the lies.

“Did we get him, Skipper?”

“Aye
, boy, we got him fair and square.”

A cough brought forth a gout of crimson fluid.

“Rest easy, boy. Thy duty’s done.”

Seemingly drifting away, the teenager rallied one final time.

“Tell Mum it didn’t hurt, and tell her I was a good sailor.”

Boothroyd looked up as Higginbotham entered, the engineer’s face betraying the horror of what he had stumbled upon.

“Oh Jesus Christ, George!”

He rushed forward, one hand on the dying child, the other on the man who had been his best friend since memories began.

Holding the boy’s hand tight, the ship’s captain made his pledge.

“That I will
, boy, that I will. Now, rest easy, and know that I’s proud of thee.”

“Dad...”

The boy died.

The crew abandoned ship, pulling away in the undamaged boats, putting a little distance between themselves and the rapidly sinking trawler.

Higginbotham had tried, as had others, but all failed. So they obeyed the last order of their Captain, the man who now stood motionless on the port bridge of the Sequoia, sixty feet away.

The crews stopped rowing and watched,
no one in the two boats turning away, all rigidly facing front as a mark of respect to their crewmates and their ship.

HMT Sequoia accelerated her descent, the rising water claiming her hull and superstructure in one violent, foaming minute, Captain Boothroyd disappearing from view in a whirl of white.

And then she was gone.

At one hundred and fifty feet, hydrostatic valves started to click, the
depth charges doing what they had been asked to do by Thompson.

Eight of thirty charges had been armed and ready for use.

Eight charges exploded in short order.

HMT Sequoia and her crew became just a memory.

Forty men, plus one boy.

             
Colonels Ferovan and Atalin had been extremely busy, and their reports had enabled Malinin to supply the answers to Zhukov’s direct questions
.

“So, am I to believe that both of these considerable losses are as a result of coincidence and nothing more?”

The responsible Front Commanders had already supplied their own reports, but it was all so close to his briefing regarding the importance of their supplies that the reports were challenged and his own officers sent out into the field to check.

“Yes
, Comrade Marshal.”

Zhukov slid one of a stack of folders out of the pile and opened it.

“Start with Ingolstadt then, Comrade.”

Ingolstadt had been the main deposit of supplies for the assault armies in Western Bavaria. From the initial reports, ‘had’ was
apparently an excellent description.

“Comrade
Marshal, the report you received has been confirmed. Colonel Atalin has inspected a number of bodies, two of which had blood group tattoos on their left arms, in accordance with the SS practice.”

“Atalin’s report details firm evidence of a considerable
fire fight on the western edge of supply area, where the immediate guard force was wiped out to a man.”

A grunt from Zhukov was all the recognition that the outnumbered guard force would get at this time.

“Reaction elements of the guarding infantry regiment acted swiftly, and prevented the partisans causing excessive damage.

The word ‘excessive’ drew a look from the Commander in Chief.

The CoS shrugged.

“Comrade
Marshal, it could have been so much worse.”

“Continue Mikhail”, the olive branch offered up quickly.

“The arrival of another force, a motorized company of NKVD troops, forced the German saboteurs to call of their attack.”

Turning the page, Malinin continued.

“The NKVD force acted in exemplary fashion, restricting the movement of the partisans, and it seems they are responsible for most of the casualties that were inflicted upon them.”

The initial report had detailed twenty-seven enemy dead and three prisoners.

Malinin moved quickly into that area.

“Atalin confirms the numbers, and that GRU and NKVD interrogators are hard at work.”

That statement carried a lot of meaning and needed no amplification.

“It would appear that the fires started by the partisans were responsible for attracting the attention of enemy aircraft.”

Turning the page again, Malinin waited for his commander to follow suit, checking the original report against the Colonel’s independent version.

“From the timings that Colonel Atalin has recorded during his interviews with survivors, the air attacks first started at 2342hrs, when there was still fighting on the ground. Further attacks come in, building in intensity. Atalin deduces, correctly in my view, that enemy controllers became more organised and brought more aircraft in, encouraged by the secondary explosions on the ground.”

Another grunt, not one of acknowledgement, but one of annoyance, did not discourage Malinin from continuing.

“It would appear that over two hundred Allied aircraft attacked the site.”

Bending forward to closely study an item not so well printed, he struggled to make out the name.

“Mayor Stryabin? Skryabin? Shryabin? Whoever he is, he is the NKVD commander on the ground, and he reported the final air attack ending at 0459hrs. This differs from Pod-Polkovnik Zhuvashikin of the security regiment, who reports the final attack fully one hour earlier. Atalin suspects this discrepancy may have come about because of explosions on the ground.”

He looked up at Zhukov.

“In any case, Atalin
states that he highlights this as it is the only discrepancy he has discovered between his and the Front report we were given.”

A loud resigned exhalation indicated Zhukov’s opinion.

“So Comrade, do the losses marry up?”

Turning to the final page
, Zhukov waited.

The Colonels report made its way over, and he placed them side by side.

“Really?”

“He was relying on figures given him by supply officers, but they had the benefit of some extra time to do their checks.”

The losses were markedly less than those first feared, but still reflected nearly a third of the ammunition, and a quarter of other consumables.

With one exception.

“122mm shells again? Are the Allies psychic?”

Just under forty-six percent
of the stock of 122mm shells had been damaged or destroyed.

“This will have an effect
, Comrade Marshal, but it is not as bad as we feared, and my preliminary planning had already looked at reducing expenditures, so I believe we may be able to cope with this loss.”

There was a silence, both men thinking along the same lines.

‘Provided there are no more disasters!’

“Let us leave Ingolstadt
for now. Your report will be ready when?”

Malinin thought swiftly.

“One hour from when we finish up here, Comrade Marshal.”

“Excellent. Now, Lauenbruck.”

“A different tale, Comrade Marshal.”

Both men selected their reports, Zhukov again with the front Commanders submission
alongside to identify any differences.

“A force of enemy soldiers, identified as Canadian troops, attacked the airfield and supply depot. We have a count of twenty-eight enemy dead and captured.”

Flicking over the page, Malinin sneezed.

Zhukov watched in amusement as the Chief of Staff gathered himself for the traditional repeat.

It came, shaking Malinin to the core.

“Gesundheit,” the
German saying slipping badly from Zhukov’s tongue.

“
NKVD Polkovnik Cyrichov, the security force commander, reports his belief that the whole group of raiders was destroyed in the attempt. Ferovan is less forthright in his opinion, but does say that NKVD security forces have found no further trace of the partisans movements post-raid.”

“Then we will leave it at that. Losses in equipment and munitions. Any discrepancies?”

There was none of note, the hastily prepared version tallying almost exactly with Colonel Ferovan’s submission.

Losses in men, equipment and munitions were almost mirrored, the sole difference being in an extra two firefighters
dead, both having succumbed to their injuries, one less Yakolev-9 fighter destroyed, and an additional four thousand hand grenades unusable, declared unstable by a senior munitions officer.

“The losses in
engineer equipment are high, Mikhail. The Armenian already wails and asks for replacements.”

That was something that needed no discussion. There were none to be had at the moment, despite the promises and protestations of those back in the Motherland.

“Ferovan makes an observation on the pre-disposition of Front Supply Officers for stockpiling. The reasons are sound normally, but the advantage of concentrating our supplies was, on this occasion lost. The secondary detonation of munitions on the ground seems to have caused more damage than the enemy attack itself. Even though some allied aircraft arrived, they spent more time and effort attacking the destroyed airfield and burning wrecks than the supply facility.”

Zhukov wondered when a Commander might consider the loss of an elite fighter regiment and its crews an advantage to the loss of supposedly replaceable supplies.

‘I will take that exchange every time until the damn problem is sorted.’

The thought
did not make him uncaring; it just meant he was a General, with a General’s problems.

“Your thoughts
, Mikhail?”

Without a
moment’s hesitation, the reply, obviously already carefully considered, came tumbling out.

“Comrade
Marshal, we have the manpower to guard our dumps effectively, and the AA capability to protect them from air attack no less than we did before.”

That statement
was a simple truth, although the Allied capability to interdict their supplies and transport routes was much higher than had been anticipated.

“Concentrating
supplies is an accepted practice, but not one that can now stand, given recent events.”

Zhukov nodded his agreement.

“Whilst our supply officers do not place munitions and non-munitions side by side, we clearly have a major issue with collateral damage. So, I suggest that we order Front Supply Officers to separate explosive and non-explosive stocks, to limit losses from secondary explosions, and set minimum distances between locations.”

“Agreed. Prepare that order immediately, as a priority
, Comrade.”

Zhukov carefully laid the report back on the pile.

“And your report on this one?”

“Will exactly reflect that of Comrade
Marshal Bagramyan in every way, Comrade.”

Zhukov laughed, short but loud.

“He may be a bastard, and a wily old fox, but he is no fool, and certainly no liar. Sometimes I wish I didn’t like him!”

Malinin smiled with his commander in chief.

Having second thoughts, Zhukov tapped the report with his fingertips.

“Have another look
, Mikhail. Find me some bridging assets that I can give him as a present, eh?”

“I will do my best, Comrade
Marshal.”

Zhukov remained in the office as the door closed behind his CoS, interpreting the information in his mind, seeing the disadvantages grow as every day went past, and finding less in his pocket to produce to overcome them.

‘We are still winning, and the necessary requirements will come, and they will allow us to end this stupidity within six months.’

‘Do you really believe that you fool?’

‘Of course I believe in our victory. Why else would I fight?’

‘You fight because you are a soldier and your Motherland calls you. But can you still believe in the sweeping victory you spoke of two months ago?’