Chapter 1069: Inexplicable Roar

After walking out of Stalin’s office, Vatutin had to single-handedly face the series of problems that Moscow would have to bear after the destruction of Ulyanovsk. First and foremost was the direct consequence of a vital railway line being destroyed. A massive amount of supplies, transported from the rear, could only be piled up in a distant location, unable to be moved into the Moscow war theater.

Ammunition and American-aid munitions, including over a hundred Sherman tanks, countless machine guns, and their bullets, could only be stacked up in railway stations further east of Ulyanovsk, to be slowly sent into Moscow by truck.

This was only the problem Vatutin could immediately think of. The other was whether the German bombing would continue. If the German army continued its bombing, and if the location of the bombing spread from this node at Ulyanovsk, then the empty Soviet heartland would be bombed to smithereens by the German army, and the fragile industrial base would be dealt an even heavier blow.

All the transport nodes along the Khopyor River, a tributary of the Don, including the transport hub of Tambov, the important city of Penza southeast of Moscow, Saratov, and even the distant Chelyabinsk industrial region, could all be “visited” by German bombers. This was definitely not good news. At least for the Soviet Union, this was absolutely not good news.

The Soviet Union’s famed “defense in depth,” which it had once been so proud of, was now on the verge of being chiseled through by the German army. Those cities that had once been completely unreachable were now all under the shadow of the German bomber force. What was even more despairing was that Kazakhstan and other allied states, which had been in negotiations to join the Soviet Union, had at this very moment all adopted a neutral, wait-and-see attitude.

Of course, it was not until a day later, when the number of T-34-chassis-converted SU-76 self-propelled anti-tank guns in the second batch being sent to Moscow was reduced from the originally fixed 30 to a pitiful 5, that Vatutin had realized that another of the Soviet Union’s heavy industrial bases had been destroyed by the German army.

“Comrade Stalin has sent me to confirm how the preparations for the welcoming parade for Zhukov’s return are progressing.” A staffer sent by Stalin walked into Vatutin’s chaotic and somewhat dilapidated office. This place had only just recently been restored. Because of the last German bombing, all high-ranking Soviet commanders had been ordered not to use the above-ground offices. Of course, as the number of German bombings had dropped to almost zero, this ban had eventually been forgotten by everyone. Compared to the dim, dark underground command bunkers, most of the officers still preferred spacious and bright rooms. What’s more, they felt that the time they had left to use these offices so peace-of-mindedly was not much longer. As soon as the German army began a large-scale attack on Moscow, everyone would have to use the underground bunkers.

Vatutin put down the file in his hand and pulled his mind away from this damned document. The file recorded the weapons and supplies that the Moscow theater had received since May. Overall, the quantity of all materials was on a downward trend, which really did not make Vatutin happy.

So he stopped thinking about these unpleasant things and replied to Stalin’s staffer, “The station is ready, and the troops for the parade have been training for five days. I hear that Marshal Zhukov will be able to reach Moscow in three days? If he could take a plane, he should have been here a day ago.”

“There’s no other way. Because of the concern that the German Air Force’s fighter range is very wide, all officers of the rank of major general and above have been forbidden to fly. Everyone is still relatively compliant with this rule. After all, no one wants to become a target for the German Air Force, right?” the staffer said, glancing at the map that was spread out on the table. He then quickly averted his gaze in fear.

Because on the map, not far to the due west of Moscow, the area was densely packed with the designations of German units. The closest small hill, he had even inspected it as a special envoy of Stalin. At that time, the German army had not yet fought its way there. When he had gone, all he had seen were dense crowds of old Soviet men, lining up to dig trenches.

“The Germans… the Germans have already advanced to this position?” This staffer of Stalin’s looked at Vatutin in terror. “They… they… they’ve already reached here? Oh, my God.”

“Where else? What did you think? That they were waiting in Berlin for your permission to walk to Moscow?” Vatutin said with a cold laugh. He then pressed his hand on the map that was spread out on his desk. “The closest German position to Moscow is only 15 kilometers away. We are losing tens of thousands of soldiers every day to stop the German army from advancing into the city center.”

He had no choice but to push countless young and old lives into the abyss of hell, to hold their positions on the already-bombed-out ground, to pay the price of their lives to stop the German advance. To use this kind of sacrifice to protect the peace of Moscow, or rather, to protect him and Stalin from being killed by the German army.

“We are short of cannons and tanks. To be able to stop the German army from continuing to advance into the city of Moscow is already the maximum operational intensity the soldiers can achieve,” Vatutin said with a bitter smile. He pointed to the place that Stalin’s staffer had recognized and said, “We lost a full 1,700 soldiers on this position. When the Germans occupied that place, the bodies had almost completely filled the entire trench.”

“I will report these things to the great leader, Comrade Stalin,” the staffer said, swallowing hard. He then, forcing himself to be calm, said to Vatutin, “I will report your efforts to Comrade Stalin… If there is nothing else, may I go back and report now?”

After leaving Vatutin’s, this staffer of Stalin’s was even trembling as he walked. Today, he had finally learned just how grim the situation in Moscow was. In the past, when he had heard that the German army was still dozens of kilometers from Moscow, he had had almost no concept of this distance. But today, he knew what this distance represented, and he also knew just how dangerous and desperate his own current situation was.

Sitting in the swaying car, this poor fellow was still repeatedly thinking about how he was going to get out of this chaotic situation. In the end, it was not until the car had driven into the Kremlin that he realized he had already returned to his destination. And so he pushed open the car door, got out, and, following the guidance of the guards all along the way, he walked towards the office where his loyal leader, Stalin, was.

“Ah… you’re back. How is it? Are the preparations for Comrade Vatutin’s parade ready? I am going to give an important speech there, to encourage the entire motherland to continue to hold on in the Great Patriotic War,” Stalin said, hearing someone push open the door. He looked up at his subordinate for a moment, and then continued to look down at the speech that his secretary had prepared. He spoke to his trusted staffer as he read. It seemed his mood was not bad today.

Who knew why his mood was good today? Perhaps it was because of the clear weather, perhaps because the German army had not shelled the west of the city, perhaps because he knew that Zhukov was about to return to Moscow, or perhaps it was because the reinforcements from the Far East had sent back definite news.

In any case, this super leader, who had once been able to turn the clouds and the rain in Moscow, was now firmly convinced of one thing: as long as he could hold off the German army’s advance in Moscow, he would surely, one day in the future, see a turning point in the war. So his fighting spirit was high, in stark contrast to his surrounding generals.

As the German tanks and armored cars had drawn closer and closer to Moscow, this Soviet leader had, by some unknown method, hypnotized himself into believing that he could hold off the enemy in Moscow, to fight for the continuation of his rule and to seize victory.

“Great leader, Comrade Stalin, I would like to… I would like to discuss with you… if it is possible… to send my family to the somewhat safer Chelyabinsk…” this staffer said, taking advantage of Stalin’s good mood to quickly make his request. He didn’t know when Stalin’s mood would suddenly turn sour. After all, at a time like this, people’s moods were often very sensitive and could be completely changed by some small, trivial matter.

“Chelyabinsk? Why do you bring up that damn place? I’ve heard that some people there have already begun to oppose my leadership. They think it was I who started the war with the Germans, which has led to today’s defeat!” Stalin’s face suddenly became terrible. Just the day before, he had received a secret report, saying that in the Soviet heartland, among those families who had been exiled there, dissenting opinions had begun to spread.

And so Stalin had cabled Chelyabinsk, ordering the relevant departments there to suppress these rumors, which were unfavorable to his rule, and to arrest those who were spreading them. But the people in Chelyabinsk had politely refused Stalin’s request, claiming that if they were to rashly investigate the workers’ speeches, it would affect the production speed of the factories in the rear.

This, which could almost be said to be a very reasonable refusal, had suddenly filled Stalin’s heart with an infinite panic. He was afraid that his orders were beginning to lose their support in the local areas. He was suspicious, feeling that some unknown force was undermining him from behind. Now, when his own staffer had suddenly mentioned Chelyabinsk, Stalin had, as was to be expected, become furious.

“No! As long as I am alive, no one can leave Moscow! No one! You will all stay in this city, and fight for our motherland, for our cause! Fight! Fight to the last second!” Stalin roared, pounding the table, his voice echoing throughout the Kremlin. “If you ever mention leaving Moscow to me again, I will send you and your entire family to the front line!”

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