Red Army

"But are they moving already? How quickly can they move? Will the routes support an operational movement? How long will it take? And where will they try to strike us?"

"Dudorov's working the problem. But we just can't see back into those mountains down south." Chibisov paused, playing through a mental war game. "The Twentieth Guards Army is moving slowly, and a gap is beginning to open up. The Americans could theoretically move north almost anywhere between the Weser and the Rhine."

Malinsky pushed himself back into a more comfortable position.

285

Ralph Peters

"Well, we can fight the Americans, too. Dudorov needs to get moving.

Concentrate all of the available intelligence assets. Find their formations, if they're really out there. And you and I can sit down and choose our ground. Now, how's the passage of the Forty-ninth Corps progressing?"

Chibisov almost began his reply with "Your son's corps," but he caught himself. He answered crisply. "The lead brigades of the Forty-ninth Corps are crossing the Weser at Bad Oeynhausen and Rinteln at this time. We had a splendid stroke of luck. A forward detachment grabbed the Rinteln bridge while working its way up to Bad Oeynhausen."

Malinsky nodded, but his face appeared troubled. "Our luck has been almost too good for my tastes, Pavel Pavlovitch. Dudorov really needs to pay attention now."

"The trail brigades of the corps are following the same routes. Their lead elements should cross within the next hour. The biggest problems remain the refugee flow and clutter on the highways, but we've managed to clean up the priority routes. The transit of the Forty-ninth Corps has, however, meant a cessation of other reinforcement and resupply throughout the night, except for what we can push up on secondary routes.

Maintaining the broad integrity of the Forty-ninth does, of course, give us the option of turning the entire corps or the trail brigades to meet a threat from the south. But we would need to send them combat instructions within the next few hours. Otherwise, they'll be too deeply committed to the push for the Rhine."

Malinsky peered at the map. Chibisov could sense the old man war-gaming various options, doing his own vital staff work now in a matter of seconds. "We'll see," Malinsky said. "I don't want to change their mission just yet. Stick to the plan. We'll take the risk. But Dudorov has to work the problem with the Americans. I do not want to send the Forty-ninth Corps chasing ghosts on the wrong side of the Rhine. But I don't want to be unpleasantly surprised by the Americans. Really, an operational-scale American attack is a more likely threat than a nuclearization of the battlefield. Stick to the plan. For now. Get the lead brigades of the Forty-ninth to the Rhine and across it. We will only turn the lead brigades if we have no choice. But warn the corps of the possible danger to their left flank. Direct that the trail elements be weighted to the south, ready to conduct a spoiling attack, fight meeting engagements, or, if necessary, assume a hasty defense. Speed them up. Get them all through the Teutoburg Forest tonight."

"We can expect to fight for some of the passes in the Teutoburg. It's the last practical line of defense."

286

RED ARMY

Malinsky waved the problem away. "That's a purely tactical problem.

The enemy is beaten. They have too little left to stop us. Our commanders must not be timid."

Chibisov thought again of Malinsky's son. Guards Colonel Malinsky.

The son had a reputation as a painstaking officer, but a loner, even more so than his father. Not at all the gregarious sort of Russian to which one became accustomed in the officer corps. Chibisov also knew that the son was supposed to be a very talented musician, and that he had a wife said to be eccentric and overly given to Western tastes. He knew that the old man loved his son more than he loved anything else in the world. There were endless stories about how Malinsky so relentlessly stressed that his son should have no special treatment that everyone assumed that he was actually hinting that he wanted to insure that the son received very special treatment, indeed. Chibisov suspected that he might be the only officer in the entire army who never doubted Malinsky's sincerity.

Malinsky just did not make sense to others. A high-ranking officer who did not press ruthlessly for his son's advantage made no sense within the Soviet system. Malinsky was a genius in some respects; in others he seemed as naive as a child. He never seemed to fully grasp the selfish motivations of other men.

Now the son would have a chance to perform on his own. Perhaps against the Americans, with their magnificent weapons. Chibisov wished the son luck across the dark distances. For the father's sake.

"Shall I call for tea or some refreshments, Comrade Front Commander?" Chibisov asked.