Then he took his hand away and added: 'Well, a symbolic drop. For the toast.'
'Lopatin's a baby. He just likes sweets.'
They drank to the success of their common task. Then, as always happens, they discovered they had friends in common from their days at military school or the Academy. They went on to talk about their superior officers, about how cold and unpleasant the steppes were in autumn.
'Well,' said Lopatin. 'Is the wedding going to be soon?'
'It won't be long,' said Novikov.
'There's sure to be a wedding if there are Katyushas around,' said Magid.
Magid was convinced that the rocket-launchers would play a decisive role. After a glass of vodka he became condescending, sarcastic, sceptical and distant. Novikov took a strong dislike to him.
Now, whenever he met people, Novikov tried to imagine what Yevgenia Nikolaevna would think of them. He also tried to imagine how they would behave with her, what they would find to talk about.
Magid, he decided, would at once start to flirt, putting on airs, boasting and telling tall stories. He suddenly felt anxious and jealous -as though Zhenya really was listening to Magid's witticisms.
Wanting to make an impression on her himself, he began to explain how important it is to understand the men you're fighting alongside, to know in advance how they're likely to behave in battle. He talked about Karpov, who would need egging on, about Byelov, who would need holding back, and about Makarov, who was equally at home in attack and in defence.
A series of rather empty remarks – as often happens with a group of officers representing different arms of the service – gave rise to a heated but equally empty argument.
'Yes,' said Morozov. 'Sometimes you need to correct people a little, to give them some kind of orientation. But you should never impose your will on them.'
'People should be led firmly,' said Nyeudobnov. 'One should never be afraid of taking responsibility on oneself.'
Lopatin changed the subject.
'If you haven't fought in Stalingrad, then you haven't seen war.'
'Excuse me!' exclaimed Magid. 'But why Stalingrad? No one could deny the stubbornness and heroism of its defenders. That would be absurd. But I've never been in Stalingrad and I still have the cheek to say that I've seen war. My element is the offensive. I've taken part in three offensives. And let me tell you something – I've been the one who's broken through the enemy line. I've been the one who's entered the breach. Yes, the artillery really showed what it can do. We were ahead of the infantry, ahead of the tanks, we were even ahead of the air force.'
'Come on now!' said Novikov fiercely. 'Everyone knows that the tank is the master of mobile warfare. That's something there can be no two opinions about.'
'There's one other possibility,' said Lopatin, taking up an earlier thread of the conversation. 'In the event of success, you can take the credit yourself. But if you fail, you can blame it on your neighbours.'
'Don't talk to me of neighbours!' said Morozov. 'There was this general, the commander of an infantry unit, who asked for a supporting barrage. 'Go on, old man, just give those heights a little dusting for me!' I asked him what calibres I should use. He called me every name in the book and repeated: 'Open fire! And don't waste time about it.' I discovered afterwards he couldn't tell one calibre from another, had no idea of the different ranges and could hardly even read a map. 'Open fire, you motherfucker!' And he'd shout out to his subordinates: 'Forward! Or I'll smash your teeth in. Forward! Or I'll put you against the wall and have you shot!' And of course he was convinced he was a great strategist. There's a fine neighbour for you! And often you end up being put under someone like that. After all, he was a general.'
'I'm surprised to hear you talking like that,' said Nyeudobnov. 'There are no officers like that in the Soviet armed forces – and certainly no generals.'
'What do you mean?' asked Morozov. 'I've met hundreds over the last year. They curse, wave their pistols about and expose their men to enemy fire just for the fun of it. Why, not long ago I saw a battalion commander burst out crying. 'How can I lead my men straight into those machine-guns?' he said. 'Don't worry,' I told him. 'First let's neutralize those gun emplacements. The artillery can do that.' And what do you think the general in command of the division did? He went for the battalion commander with his fists. 'Either you attack right now,' he shouted, 'or I'll have you shot like a dog!' So he led his men forward to be slaughtered.'
'Yes,' said Magid. ' 'I'll do as I please and don't you dare contradict me!' That's their motto. And these generals don't, incidentally, propagate themselves just by budding. They get their dirty hands on pretty little telephonists.'
'And they can't write two words without making five mistakes,' said Lopatin.
'That's just it!' said Morozov, who hadn't heard this last remark. 'Try sparing your men with people like that around. They don't care about their men – and that's the only strength they have.'
Novikov sympathized with everything Morozov had said. He'd seen all too many incidents like that himself. And yet he suddenly blurted out:
'Spare your men! How do you think you can spare your men? If that's what you want, then you've got no business to be fighting.'
Those young recruits had upset him; he'd wanted to talk about them. But instead of letting the officers see his true kindness, he burst out with a violence that surprised even himself: 'Spare your men indeed! You don't spare your men in war any more than you spare yourself. I'll tell you what upsets me. It's when we have to entrust precious equipment to a bunch of greenhorns. And then I wonder: is it really men we need to be so careful of?'
Nyeudobnov himself had been responsible for the death of more than one man similar to those who were now sitting at table. Novikov suddenly thought that this man was no less of a danger than the enemy front line.
Nyeudobnov had been watching Novikov and Morozov as they spoke. Now he said sententiously: 'That's not what comrade Stalin says. Comrade Stalin tells us that nothing is more precious than men. Our men, our cadres, are the most precious capital of all. One must watch over them like the apple of one's eye.'
Sensing that everyone agreed with Nyeudobnov, Novikov thought: 'How strange. Now they all think of me as a brute and Nyeudobnov as someone who looks after his men. A pity Getmanov isn't here – he's even more of a saint.'
He broke in on Nyeudobnov's homily and barked out even more fiercely:
'We've got more than enough men. What we don't have is equipment. Any idiot can make a man. It's another matter to make a tank or a plane. If you're so sorry for your men, then you've got no business to call yourself an officer!'
35
Lieutenant-General Yeremenko, the Commander-in-Chief of the Stalingrad Front, had summoned Novikov, Getmanov and Nyeudobnov for an interview. He had inspected the individual brigades on the previous day, but hadn't called at Corps HQ. The three of them sat in his bunker, glancing now and again at Yeremenko as they wondered what was in store for them.
Yeremenko noticed Getmanov looking at the crumpled pillow on the bunk.
'Yes, my leg's very sore.'
They watched Yeremenko in silence while he cursed his bad leg.
'Your corps seems well prepared. You seem to have made good use of the time.'
He looked at Novikov as he said this, a little surprised at the corps commander's apparent indifference to the compliment. He knew he was considered grudging in his praise of subordinates.
'Comrade Lieutenant-General,' said Novikov. 'I've already reported to you that our ground-support aircraft have twice bombed the 137th Tank Brigade in the area of the ravines. That brigade forms part of my corps.'
Narrowing his eyes, Yeremenko wondered what Novikov was after. Did he have it in for the officer responsible, or was he just trying to cover himself?
Novikov frowned and added: 'It's a good thing there weren't any direct hits. They haven't yet learnt their trade.'
