Opening Moves

“This is a document relating to casualties sustained by Soviet airborne forces on a special operation in Alsace last Monday. I speak of Zilant-4 Comrade General.”

The report made its way over the desk and Pekunin was able to see that the Red Cross officially reported interring the remains of ‘Vladimir Yurevich Nazarbayev – Senior Lieutenant – 100th Guards Airborne Division’ along with three hundred and seventeen other members of the Division.

Whilst horrified for Nazarbayeva, the clinically professional side of him continued through the document, listing healthy and wounded prisoners and noted the absence of one name from the list.

“He’s not here?”

“Quite so Comrade Marshall. It seems that Comrade General Makarenko has the devil’s own luck, unless he ranks amongst those unidentified bodies. There seem to be at least twenty of our men unaccounted for.”

Bringing himself back to Nazarbayeva’s loss, the GRU General spoke aloud, for himself as much as for Beria.

“She doesn’t know,” said Pekunin.

“It seemed the wrong thing to do last night Comrade General. Perhaps you should have the pleasure?”

In any other man, Pekunin might have put the words down as a slip of the tongue, an incorrect word, or an attempt at black humour. In Beria, he recognised it as decidedly meant, and in that sense, a very real and worrying indication of ill will.

He must find out what had happened during that meeting but he had not yet had a chance to see her report or speak with her.

Feeling concerned for his protégé, Pekunin changed the subject to something lighter to enable his mind to work in parallel.

“Talking of Zilant-4, one of our agents picked up a face in Baden-Baden on the 9th. Have your agents supplied you with the names of the Allied and German dead?”

Beria then thought for a moment before retrieving another page of the Red Cross report from his desk. It did not pay to show all one’s cards, especially those that don’t reflect success.

“I have some information on which of the green toads escaped, although I am informed they are out of the fight for some time to come.”

The GRU General examined the list and realised it was inaccurate.

He savoured his small moment.

“I fear you are misinformed then Comrade Marshall, for Knocke was seen in the French Baden-Baden Headquarters, intact and unharmed the following Wednesday.”

“News indeed Comrade, but of low importance to us I think. We got all the big fish at their Frankfurt base. This Knocke was just a Colonel.”

Pekunin started to object.

“Yes I know, a competent one for sure, but Colonels are twenty to the rouble and Colonels don’t win wars Comrade.”

Was that a general statement or yet another warning sign for Tatiana. Pekunin could not decide.

Time brought an end to the proceedings as the phone rang to let both men know that their cars were ready, one to spirit the GRU head away to a meeting with the General Secretary, the other to take a satisfied NKVD Marshall to his Dacha. Beria intended to have a ‘quiet’ day with whatever woman would later be procured for him by his trusted NKVD bodyguards Colonels Sarkisov and Nadaraia.

Beria was a serial rapist, coercing women with talk of freeing loved ones from Gulags or using just plain basic force to have his way.

The thrill of it excited him beyond measure as his Packard Limousine took him out of Moscow.

‘Perhaps,’ he wondered, and then finally realising why Nazarbayeva had got so deep under his skin.

‘Ah yes Tatiana,’ and he leant back in the deep seats and smiled the smile of a man imagining a future that would definitely come to pass.

‘Fuck you.’

Arriving back in his headquarters just before midnight, General Pekunin took his deputy aside and informed him of the heart-rending task he was about to perform. A bottle of vodka was located and with it in hand, Pekunin sought out Nazarbayeva’s office and found her hard at work as usual.

He entered and dismissed her staff.

The next few hours he spent with Nazarbayeva the woman and mother, in his guise as Pekunin, friend and comforter.

He shared her grief and held her close and they drank vodka together until morning came.

The small matter of Beria’s wrath he left for another time.

Chapter 51 – THE HORRORS

The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out and meet it.

Thucydides

0341 hrs 11th August 1945, Units of the 1st Guards Tank Army at Stammen, South of Trendelburg, Germany.

^{Fig#21 – Trendleburg}

It was an awful night, bringing rain, thunder, and lightning in equal measure, for which the Soviet Commanding officer was extremely grateful.