All this was far from easy to understand. But is life ever easy to understand?
As they made their way back to the jeep, Getmanov said jokingly to Karpov: 'We'll have to have lunch at Byelov's. It's hardly worth waiting for a meal from you and your quartermaster.'
'Comrade Commissar,' replied Karpov, 'the quartermaster still hasn't received anything from the HQ stores. And he hardly eats anything at all himself – he's got a bad stomach.'
'A bad stomach. Ay! Poor man!' yawned Getmanov as he signed to the driver to start.
Byelov's brigade was positioned some distance to the west of Karpov's. He was a thin man with a large nose and the crooked legs of a cavalryman. He spoke rapidly and he had a sharp, intelligent mind. Novikov liked him, and he seemed the ideal man to effect a sudden breakthrough and a swift pursuit. He was thought highly of, despite his relative lack of experience. Last December, near Moscow, he had led a raid on the enemy rear.
Now, though, Novikov was anxiously conscious only of Byelov's failings: he was forgetful and frivolous, he drank like a fish, he was too much of a womanizer, and he was disliked by his subordinates. He had prepared no defensive positions whatsoever. He seemed quite uninterested in logistics – with the exception of fuel and ammunition supplies. He hadn't given enough thought to the matter of the evacuation of damaged tanks from the battlefield and their subsequent repair.
'We're not in the Urals any longer, comrade Byelov,' said Novikov.
'Yes,' said Getmanov. 'We're encamped on the steppes, like gypsies.'
'I've taken measures against attack from the air,' Byelov pointed out. 'But at this distance from the front line, a ground attack seems hardly probable. 'Anyway, comrade Colonel,' he announced with a loud sigh, 'what my soul thirsts for is an offensive.'
'Very good, Byelov, very good!' said Getmanov. 'You're a true commander, a real Soviet Suvorov!' Then, addressing him as
At first, misled by Getmanov's friendly tone, Byelov didn't understand the question.
'I'm sorry. What did he say?'
Then Getmanov's meaning became clear. With obvious embarrassment, he said: 'I'm a man, comrade Commissar. And we are in the field.'
'You've got a wife and child.'
'Three children,' said Byelov sullenly.
'Three children then. Well, you know what happened to Bulano-vich in the ist Brigade. He's a fine officer, but he was relieved of his command because of an affair like this. What kind of an example are you setting your subordinates? A Russian officer and the father of three children!'
Suddenly furious, Byelov protested: 'Seeing as I didn't use force, it's of no concern to anyone else. And as for setting an example – it's been done before you and me and before your father.'
Without raising his voice, but now addressing him as '
Standing rigidly to attention, Byelov said: 'Excuse me, comrade Commissar. I understand. I realize my error.'
'The corps commander and I are confident of your fighting abilities. But take care not to disgrace yourself in your personal life.'
Getmanov looked at his watch and turned to Novikov.
'Pyotr Pavlovich, I haven't got time to go with you to Makarov's. I have to be at Headquarters. I'll borrow a jeep from Byelov.'
They left the bunker. Unable to restrain himself, Novikov asked: 'Can't you wait to see your Tamara then?'
Two frosty eyes looked at him in astonishment. An irritated voice said: 'I've been called to Front Headquarters by the Member of the Military Soviet.'
Novikov went on by himself to visit Makarov, the commander of the 3rd Brigade and a favourite of his.
They walked together towards a lake; one of the battalions was disposed on its shores. Makarov, a man with a pale face and improbably sad eyes for the commander of a brigade of heavy tanks, said: 'Comrade Colonel, do you remember how the Germans chased us through that bog in Byelorussia?'
Novikov did indeed remember. He thought for a moment of Karpov and Byelov. It obviously wasn't just a matter of experience, but of a man's nature. You can give a man all the experience in the world, but you can't change his nature. It was no good trying to make a sapper out of a fighter pilot. Not everyone can be like Makarov -equally competent both in attack and in defence.
Getmanov had said he had been made for Party work. Well, Makarov was a soldier – and he would always remain a soldier. That was his nature.
Novikov didn't need to hear any reports from Makarov. What he wanted was to talk things over with him, to ask for his advice. During the offensive, how could they liaise most effectively with the infantry, the motorized infantry, the sappers and the self-propelled guns? Did they agree as to the possible actions of the enemy after the beginning of the offensive? Did they have the same opinion of the strength of his anti-tank defences? Were the lines of deployment correctly drawn?
They came to the shallow ravine that housed the battalion command-post. Fatov, the battalion commander, was taken aback to see such important visitors. His bunker seemed somehow inadequate. A soldier had just used gunpowder to light the stove and it smelt vile.
'Comrades,' said Novikov. 'I want you to remember one thing. This corps will be assigned a crucial role in the coming engagements. I shall assign the most difficult part of this role to you, Makarov. And I have a feeling you will assign the most difficult part of your role to Fatov. You'll have to solve your problems yourselves – I won't go foisting my own ideas on you in battle.'
He then asked Fatov about his liaison with Regimental HQ and with his squadron commanders, about the functioning of the radio, his supplies of ammunition, the quality of the fuel and the condition of the engines.
Before saying goodbye, Novikov asked: 'Are you ready, Makarov?'
'Not quite, comrade Colonel.'
'Will three days be enough for you?'
'Yes, comrade Colonel.'
On the way back, Novikov said to his driver: 'Well, Kharitonov, Makarov seems to be on top of things, doesn't he?'
Kharitonov glanced at Novikov. 'Yes, comrade Colonel, absolutely on top of things. The brigade quartermaster got dead drunk and went off to bed leaving everything locked up. Someone came to pick up the rations for his battalion and found no one at home. And a sergeant-major told me that his squadron commander got hold of his squadron's vodka ration and had himself a birthday party. He got through the whole lot. And I wanted to repair an inner tube and get a spare wheel off them. They didn't even have any glue.'
34
Nyeudobnov was delighted when, looking out of the window, he saw Novikov's jeep arrive in a cloud of dust.
He had felt like this once when he was a child. His parents were going out and he had been full of excitement at the thought of being left alone in the house. And then as soon as the door closed, he had felt terrified: he had seen thieves in every corner, he had been afraid the house would catch fire… He had paced back and forth between the door and the window, listening, wondering if he could smell smoke.
Alone in the hut that served as Corps HQ, he had felt helpless. His usual ways of controlling the world had become suddenly ineffectual. What if the enemy appeared? After all, they were only sixty kilometres from the front line. What would he do then? It would be no good threatening to dismiss them from their posts or accusing them of conspiring with enemies of the people. How could he stop their tanks? Nyeudobnov was struck by something blindingly obvious: here at the front, the terrible rage of the State, before which millions of people bowed down and trembled, was of no effect. The Germans didn't have to fill in questionnaires. They didn't have to stand up at
