Red Army

Starukhin gave his admirers time to appreciate his style. They gathered around the two men, smirking like children. "The Air Force always wants an absurd margin of safety. There are plenty of aircraft. I know, I've examined the figures personally. And Dudorov, that fat little swine, needs to get his head out of the clouds and do some real work. You know the British won't give up all of their tank reserves. I'll be stuck in unnecessary meeting engagements when I should be pissing in the Weser."

"Comrade Army Commander," Chibisov said, "the front commander has taken his decision on the matter of aircraft allocation." He chose his usual armor of formality, even though he and Starukhin wore the same rank now and Starukhin was technically subordinate by virtue of their respective duty positions. In an odd way, though, he sympathized with Starukhin. Beyond the dramatics, Starukhin, too, was a tough professional. Now he was trying to build his own margin of safety, a type of behavior the shadow system taught every perceptive officer as a lieutenant. But there was nothing to be done.

"Oh, don't tell me that, Chibisov. Everybody knows he does whatever you want him to do. Comrade Lieutenant General Chibisov, the grand vizier of the Group of Forces. Just get me a few extra aircraft, say one hundred additional sorties. And tell Dudorov his number-one job is to find the British reserves so I can send the aircraft after them. Oh, and Nicki Borisov tells me I need more one-five-two ammunition."

31

Ralph Peters

"Two more units of fire per gun would be good," Borisov put in from Starukhin's side. Borisov was a talented enough officer, a recent Voroshi-lov graduate who was betting on Starukhin to pull him along.

"Comrade Army Commander," Chibisov said, "at present, you have received a greater proportion of the front's allocation of virtually every type of ammunition than your comrades. You have more march routes with fewer water obstacles. You have more hauling capacity than any other army. You have more rotary-wing aircraft of every type. You have two deception battalions in support of you, as well as an extra signal battalion that came right out of the front's hide. You have the lion's share of the front's artillery division, you—"

"I have the best maneuver terrain"—Starukhin cut him off—"and I have forty-six percent of the tactical bridging assets to cross under thirty-four percent of the projected water obstacles. Don't play numbers with me, Chibisov. I also have the main attack, and the toughest opponents. In addition to which I expect half of the German Corps to come down on my northern flank when Trimenko gets stuck in the mud."

"That's nonsense. The Germans will hold on too far forward and too long. It's a given. And if they hit anybody, it'll be Trimenko."

"A few damned aircraft, Chibisov."

Chibisov could tell now that Starukhin was sorry that he had initiated the exchange and that he was looking for a token prize so that he would not be embarrassed in front of his officers.

"Comrade Army Commander, as the aircraft become available, I promise you will have priority."

"But I need to plan." Suddenly, Starukhin lost his temper. "Listen, I don't have to beg you, you little . . ."

Say it, Chibisov thought, looking Starukhin dead in the eyes. Go ahead, say it, you cossack bastard, say the word. Chibisov knew Starukhin better than the army commander realized. Dudorov had a finger in everything—he was a superb chief of intelligence—as a result of which Chibisov knew that Starukhin strongly encouraged his officers to affiliate with Pamyat, a right-wing nationalist hate group that wanted to revive the days of the Black Hundreds and to rid the sacred Motherland of Asians and other subhuman creatures, such as Chibisov himself. Oh, he knew the bully with the big cigar. His grandfathers had come for a drunken frolic in the ghetto, coming by the hundreds, to cut a few beards and perhaps a few throats, to rape the women . . . and to steal. The Slav was a born thief. And Chibisov's ancestors, but a few generations removed, would not have resisted. They would have bowed and prayed.

Those days were over. And the Starukhins of the world would never 32

bring them back. Even for officers who were not Party members, such affiliations were illegal. Pamyat had even reprinted The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, the infamous Jew-baiting book of the Czarist Okhrana so beloved of the Hitlerite Germans. Chibisov needed all of his self-control now not to spit in the army commander's face. He consoled himself with the thought that he could destroy Starukhin, if it proved absolutely necessary.

"You were about to say something, Comrade Army Commander?"