Red Army

"The lead regiments are well beyond the counterattack sector. We're in behind the Germans. But Trimenko had to turn the trail regiments to fight."

Malinsky thought about that. "I don't like to see a division split up.

Can Trimenko manage the command and control?"

"The Sixteenth Tank Division staff is controlling the lead regiments.

The trail regiments are temporarily under the control of Khrenov's division."

"Good." Malinsky wanted a cup of tea to clear his head. He pressed the buzzer to summon an aide.

"The Germans were right on time," Chibisov went on. "And exactly where expected. The roads dictated the tactical axes. Dudorov has them dead on. You need to see his map. The detail is amazing."

Following a discreet knock on the door, a young officer appeared.

"Bring us tea," Malinsky said.

The officer disappeared again.

"Well," Malinsky told Chibisov, "it's up to Trimenko now. What about Starukhin's sector?"

"He's hitting the British with everything he's got."

Malinsky surveyed the spotlit map. But all of the details were already inside his head. "All right," he said, donning the voice of command.

"Trimenko's on his own. Weight the front's support to Starukhin. It sounds like the enemy has taken the bait."

172

THIRTEEN

Lieutenant Colonel Shilko had been waiting patiently for over an hour, but the column remained stationary. He still had two of his self-propelled batteries, his target acquisition gear, and the battalion control and fire-direction elements tucked in behind him. He had no idea where his third battery was now. All attempts at radio contact or courier linkup at former locations had resulted only in wasted breath and missing couriers. And he had been ordered to send several officers, including one battery commander, forward to fill out depleted units and to act as forward observers. It sounded as though the toll among officer cadres was very high. But Shilko accepted fate. He was pleased enough to have most of his battalion herded together and reasonably under control. He would have liked to move faster, to reach the next locations designated for his fine guns, to run them back into action. But he saw no point in joining the inevitable shouting match up ahead on the road, wherever the holdup was focused. The column would move when it was ready.

The sounds of battle were so constant that he hardly heard them anymore. The thunder of the guns had long since worn down his already-poor hearing, and he contented himself with another cigarette.

The night had grown wonderfully fresh since the rain stopped, and his peasant's sense told him there would be a fine morning in a few more hours. Pleasant weather to be out of doors.

173

Ralph Peters

Shilko had insured that his soldiers were fed with a bit of warm gruel from the old cooking trailers and that they had a sip or two of hot tea before pulling off of their positions. Shilko had never understood why some officers insisted on making life as miserable as possible for themselves and their men. The gaunt, baggy-pants types. Well, Shilko thought, a soldier's life was hard enough. If you had to meet your fate, why not on a full stomach? In the end, the slight delay had made no difference that Shilko could see. The march schedules and overall organization of traffic were little more than some staff officer's fantasies now.

An officer dashed down the line of vehicles. He hastened past Shilko's command car, and Shilko thought nothing more of it until the officer suddenly reappeared, slapping at the side of the vehicle to get Shilko's attention.

Shilko leaned out of the vehicle, cigarette stuck in his mouth like a stalk of straw.

"Are you the commander of this artillery?" the officer shouted. He was an agitated, ferret-faced major with all the trimmings of the commandant's service.

"These are my boys, Major," Shilko stated matter-of-factly, waiting to see what the other officer wanted. He had already made up his mind that he was not going to clear off the road and lose his place in the column, if that was what all the fuss was about.

But the major had another objective entirely. "Comrade Commander," he said, almost crying out, "we've got to do something. The enemy are up ahead. The motorized rifle troops can't hold them."

"Up ahead? Where?" Shilko demanded, quickening, reaching for his map case.

The major produced a map of his own and traced over it with a hooded flashlight.

"Here. Here, I think. In this general area. Can you fire in support?"

Shilko scrutinized the map. "There, you say?"

The major nodded urgently. But, in fact, as Shilko could see now, the target area was not exactly up ahead, but several kilometers off to the south, along a road that intersected with the one on which they were standing.

"How do you know the enemy's there?" Shilko demanded.