Their boots slapped up the cement steps. Inside, staff maps and remote communications gear had been set up in a public dining room. The appointments were far too comfortable for Trimenko’s image of a division’s forward command post in wartime.
“You’re carrying a lot of your staff forward with you, Khrenov,” he said.
Khrenov looked at him in mild surprise. “The bastards hit my main command post with a fire strike. Around noon. I thought you knew. Over fifty percent destruction. I’m running everything but rear services and traffic control from here until we get the alternate running hot.”
Trimenko was furious now, although he carefully held his temper inside the mental box he had fashioned for it over the years. He realized that so much was happening so swiftly that it was impossible to know it all. But his staff had the mission of sorting out those details that were truly vital and keeping the army commander informed. These gaps in his knowledge only convinced him more fully of the inability of average men to cope under the conditions of modern war. The machine was superior to the man.
“I’m sorry, Khrenov. I didn’t know that.” For a moment, Trimenko framed the problem in terms of the officers lost, undoubtedly some very good men. But he quickly rejected any sentimentality. “The important thing is not to lose control now. We must keep close control of the troops. Confusion is the enemy now. Confusion and time.”
Khrenov nodded. “Comrade Army Commander, if you’ll have a seat at the map, I’ll brief you myself.”
Really pleased with himself, Trimenko thought. Otherwise, he’d have one of his staff officers brief me. Trimenko took a seat beside a table, fronting on a map that had been unfolded and tacked to the wall. A staff officer slipped a packet of looted cigarettes, matches, and a cup of tea onto the table, then nimbly disappeared. Trimenko ignored the little gifts, reaching into his tunic pocket for his tobacco pouch of pistachio nuts. He scattered a few on the tabletop and told Khrenov to go ahead.
“The overall situation in the sector of the Twenty-first Motorized Rifle Division is quite favorable at this time. We have firmly established a divisional bridgehead… here… following a successful assault crossing against the canal line. At this time, forward elements have penetrated the line of Highway 4, and the division’s right flank regiment, following a tactical turning maneuver north from the bridgehead, is fighting on the southern outskirts of Uelzen.”
“Don’t get bogged down in a city fight,” Trimenko interrupted. “Just get the roads. Let the follow-on forces deal with any pockets. Don’t divert any more forces to deal with them than absolutely necessary to provide security.”
“Comrade Army Commander, our only interest is in securing the Highway 71 axis. Our forces are only engaged in the Uelzen area to firmly establish control of the local road network. A forward detachment detailed from that regiment has already passed into the enemy’s rear, and its last reported location puts it in light contact eighteen kilometers west of Uelzen along the supporting network corollary to Highway 71 in the Soltau-Verden direction. The division’s mission of the day should be accomplished within one to two hours.”
The reported locations were almost stunning to Trimenko. But he adamantly refused to show it in his facial expression. He slowly peeled another nut, slipped it between his lips, and stared at the map. Khrenov had reason to be pleased with himself. This was splendid. The enemy had lost control in the sector. Now it was time to hit them even harder.
“Are you in contact with the Two Hundred and Seventh Division on your southern flank?”
Khrenov’s face fell. “Yes, Comrade Army Commander. Dalyev reports that both of his initial crossing attempts have failed. The Germans… appear to be giving him a bad time.”
Trimenko nodded. “Dalyev’s got a lot of frontage. Too much to expect real results. He’s paying the price for you to succeed in your own little area, Khrenov.”
Khrenov bent forward, as though Trimenko had dropped a physical weight onto his shoulders. It was evident that the division commander was anxious to turn the briefing back to his own successes.
“I don’t mind so much,” Trimenko said. “Somebody always has to pay the price. I just want Dalyev to keep the Germans so busy up front that they miss what’s happening on their flanks. I
“Comrade Army Commander, defensive positions are being prepared at the bridgehead itself. Otherwise, in a fluid, breakthrough situation, I must be prepared to accept open flanks… to a degree…”
“Oh, don’t recite your academy notes to me, Khrenov. Neither do I want you to slow down. If anything, I think you’re lagging a bit just now,” Trimenko lied. “But you do need to get your antitank battalion and some mobile obstacle detachments up. And detail an armored reserve. Start your antitank defenses somewhere around that wishbone on Highway 4. Right about there, oriented to the south. And keep laying them in as fast as you can while you move west. Be generous with the antitank mines.”
“Comrade Army Commander, I don’t have the routes. Not yet. You must have seen what the roads are like. I’ve loaded my assault forces forward, the bridgehead’s packed, and everybody’s screaming for more ammunition. In any case, one antitank battalion can’t cover even the flank we’ve got now, and I need them on the bridgehead. I can’t even get my casualties out,” Khrenov said, in his bitterest tone of the day, “and they’re heavy.”
Trimenko dropped a flame-shaped pistachio back onto the table and waved his hand. “And you’ll have worse difficulties yet. The war has hardly begun. I’m giving you a full antitank regiment. And an additional battalion of engineers to tuck them in and lay minefields along your flank. But getting them here is your problem.”
Khrenov caught the signal. He was doing well. He was being reinforced. The army commander counted his efforts a solid success.
“Now tell me,” Trimenko continued, “about support issues. What are the real problems?”
Khrenov sighed. It was almost a womanish gesture. In the background, plates rattled. Soldiers fooling around in the kitchen, eating when they needed to be working. Trimenko let it pass for the moment.
“Comrade Army Commander,” Khrenov began. It was almost a litany, the way he said it, and it annoyed Trimenko. “I have too many reports of excessive tank main gun and artillery ammunition consumption to ignore. If it were one unit, or two, I’d assume they were overreacting, or just getting greedy, trying to stock up. But I have several reports of tanks shooting up their entire on-board units of fire in their first engagements. And the artillery is loaded down with calls for fire. It was all right as long as we were on the phased fire plan, but now, even with the battle-management computers, we can’t really tell exactly who is in firing position or who’s still on the road, who’s low on ammunition or who’s just sitting around with his elbow up his ass. My chief of missile troops and artillery is out on the ground trying to sort it out personally.”
Trimenko thought for a moment.
“But no fuel problems?” he asked.
Khrenov shook his head. “Not a whisper.”
“Of course not,” Trimenko said. “But get me better details on the ammunition problems. Not just generalities. Numbers. And burn this into your brain, Khrenov. I don’t want any unit stopping just because it runs out of ammunition. They can just go on a sightseeing ride to the Rhine. We’re on the edge of cracking those bastards now. You can feel it, Khrenov. The battlefield’s gotten away from them. And a tank with nothing but a few belts of machine-gun ammunition is still a tremendous weapon if it’s deep in the enemy’s rear.” Trimenko sat back and smiled one of his thin, rare smiles. “Think of it. If you were a fat rear-area soldier and you woke up to find enemy tanks all over your comfortable little domain, would you stop to ask yourself whether or not they had ammunition on board?” Trimenko tossed a shell toward the map. Then he locked his facial muscles once again.
“Make sure you maintain good communications with Malyshev as he comes up. Cooperate, and no nonsense. I want his division’s tanks across the autobahn tonight. I expect you to ensure personally that all control measures for his forward passage have been worked out and fully agreed upon. There must be no pauses, no letting up. Hit them, Khrenov. Get them down on their backs, and drive your tanks and fighting vehicles right over them.” Trimenko paused at the power of his mental vision. “Let me know when the first vehicle crosses the autobahn line. That triggers the deep air assaults on the Weser crossing sites.” Trimenko stared at Khrenov, measuring this man who had already accomplished so much this day. “You have the opportunity to do great things, my little major general. Great things. But first you need to stop building yourself a headquarters palace here. I find this sort of indulgence
